Self Preservation
by coffeeonthepatio
Summary: Mrs Figg has enough. 7-year-old Harry Potter cannot stay with the Dursleys any more. Severus Snape thinks everyone is better suited to raise the future Saviour of the Wizarding World. Harry dreams of being taken away by a tall man who scares even Dudley.
1. Chapter 1

_**I don't own any of the characters that have been created by JK Rowling. I am not making money, merely a bit of playing around with them. I also do not intend plagiarism in any way, shape or form. I am fully aware that there are about a billion of these stories around and as such, parallels between them can probably not be avoided but I don't mean for them to happen at all.**_

_**xx  
**_

It smelled like tea and biscuits and old books. Those scents, the favourite scents of Severus Snape, engulfed him, made him sleepy, made him yawn. The man sitting opposite him talked and talked but Severus could not listen. The armchair, while hideously coloured – purple – was very comfortable and there was a peaceful atmosphere. No doubt it had something to do with the smell but Severus did not mind. He had been up during the night, grading and brewing and this relaxation was just what he needed. He rolled his head and pushed his shoulder blades together, revelling in the clicking sounds his vertebrae made.

He leaned his head back against the softly cushioned armchair and closed his eyes for a moment. A moment too long, obviously, since he felt a poke in his side in that moment. He jumped, as he usually did when poked in the side, his one weakness, and opened his eyes again.

"You might want to at least pretend to listen to me, my boy," Albus Dumbledore, twinkling as ever, smiling as ever, said amusedly. But Severus, miffed at the poking, the sly usage of his weakness, only grunted.

"Do I have your attention now? Well, in any case, I was saying that I wonder about the quality of those sherbet lemons. It seems it has dropped in the last two months. Do you think I should write to the company and inquire?"

Severus – not caring less about sherbet lemons (they made his teeth ache, especially the one he had always had trouble with, third from the back, at the bottom, on the left side) – grunted again and took a sip of tea. It was a bit sweet for his taste but it would keep him awake during the incessant babbling of the Headmaster. He had been invited up there, to the Headmaster's private quarters under the pretence of an important issue to discuss. And apparently, the sherbet lemons were said issues.

"And Minerva asks you not to dock quite so many points from Gryffindor. She says it's getting excessive," he continued and Severus knew he had apparently missed the connection again. But really, the pattern of the carpet was more interesting.

He grunted again but remained silent. It was peaceful up here, truly, but it would be even more peaceful if the Headmaster would shut up. He almost wished for Minerva there right now. She always managed to somehow silence him. Either with a marital bantering, or one thing or another about the school. On the other hand, she usually insisted on talking to him, too, and that he didn't feel up to.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and he had apparently not paid attention again. The Headmaster was speaking into his fireplace, then stepped back, and a woman came through the green flames. A small woman, middle aged, her hair greying, spindly legs in tartan slippers and the rest of her form wrapped in a housecoat.

"Severus, you do know Arabella?" he asked gently, then pointed at a seat and the woman sat down, groaning.

"I do now," he replied, only mildly interested.

"This is Arabella Figg, a member of the Order of the Phoenix, Arabella, you know Severus?"

The woman nodded – and groaned again. "I've heard of you, of course," she said. "But this is not why I'm here," she added, staring at him. "And I'm not sure..."

"Severus is trustworthy. You can say anything that you'd say to me in his presence as well," Albus interrupted, his voice having a slight edge to it. An edge he had not heard in a while.

"Harry Potter is being mistreated," she blurted. "I have watched it for a while. I will not stand by any longer. Petunia Dursley is the worst sort of person and her husband is just a fat whale of a man who always shouts at him. And their son. Their son is worst. He Harry-hunts, Dumbledore. He and his cronies set out and chase him through the entire neighbourhood. It's been worse now than it ever was before." She took a deep breath. "Petunia slaps him. Her husband shouts because he's too lazy to smack and their son and his friends hit him. If you don't do anything, I will; and will alert Muggle social services and have him taken away. He never gets enough food, he has to work more than any child should and they make him sleep under the stairs."

Her expression was fierce and the Headmaster had suddenly lost his twinkle. And his own braincells worked hard to process what had just been said. But there was one thought very prominent in his mind.

"The boy lives with Petunia Evans?" he asked, trying to sound normal.

"Her name is Petunia Dursley these days, but yes, she's Lily's sister," the angry woman told him. "A horrible woman."

"You let the boy live with her?" Severus asked, his own anger increasing. "Do you know what kind of person that is? And that he will never learn about anything while living with that woman?" he spat the last word. "He has a prophecy to fulfil. Living with that b...horrible person will either break him or make him detest magic. It might even turn him into a Squib."

The woman glared at him for a moment, then her face softened. "He is right, Dumbledore. She slapped him especially hard last week when he vanished up on the roof of the school during break when that other boy chased him again."

"I have to leave him there," the Headmaster said sadly. "I have no other choice. Only with family, he can have the protection he needs."

"Absolute rubbish!" Severus thundered, suddenly, "I assume you're speaking of Blood Wards. Any decent Wizard can cast wards that are stronger and more secure. And the Dark Lord will never be fully killed when you let this family, this – cow – turn him into a weakling."

"Severus...I can't."

"Do you know Petunia Evans?" he bellowed harshly. "Do you think I want to put my life in line because you let a boy, the boy who has it in his power – and only his power – to vanish Him forever – live a miserable existence with a wretched person who hates magic above all? Who hated her sister because she could do magic? Who called her sister a freak?"

The woman, Arabella Figg, nodded viciously, "He is right, Dumbledore. She never even mentions Lily. Whenever I've asked her about her family, she never said anything. Nothing about Lily. Or James. It was only ever her good-for-nothing sister and her drunk husband. Not a kind word about either one of them."

Somehow, Severus had ignored, up until then, that the boy was Harry _Potter_. The mentioning of Petunia had made it perfectly clear that this was Lily's son. Only Lily's son. But yes, yes, of course. It was Potter's brat. And eventually, Potter's spawn would play a huge role in the downfall of the Dark Lord, and as such, played a major role in his fate.

Still. Nobody, not even his worst enemy, not even James Potter, not even Sirius Black, should be subjected to Petunia Evans and her evilness. Much less Lily's child. He knew Petunia Evans. Petunia Evans was devil's spawn. Even the Dark Lord would eventually break under her. No, he could not allow this. Any family was better. Any damn family.

"Anyone is better than her," he said viciously. "Anyone!"

"I agree with him, Dumbledore," the woman said, just as viciously. "I will contact Muggle social services."

"I won't have the upbringing of the only one who can bring down you-know-who depending on Muggle social services. They do no good. Even I would be a better choice!"

"Would you take care of him?" Dumbledore asked, quite suddenly, the twinkle in his eyes still gone – and a deep frown etched between his brows.

"I would, if, and only if, there is no other way, could be persuaded to find a new family for him, yes," Severus spat.

There was a short knock on the door before the headmaster could reply in any form and without waiting for an answer, Minerva McGonagall stepped in. Wife of Albus Dumbledore and Head of Gryffindor. She nodded in greeting at Severus, then her husband, before she noticed Arabella Figg sitting there.

"Arabella," she cried happily and rushed over to the middle aged woman, pecking both her cheeks. "What brings you here?"

The woman's expression darkened. "I'm here because of Harry Potter," she said, loud and clear.

"Why? What's wrong with him?" Minerva asked, alarmed.

"Petunia Evans! That's what's wrong with him. Why did nobody tell me that he's living with that infernal woman? I thought there were grandparents?" Severus exploded. "Petunia Evans, Minerva. He can't be alright if he's _raised _by her."

"And he is not raised by her," Arabella Figg fixed Minerva with her eyes. "He is mistreated and I came here to make sure that I will contact social services if Dumbledore does not remove him from there."

"Albus!" Minerva shrieked. "I told you. I haven't told you once, I haven't told you twice, I haven't told you fifty times. I must have told you about a thousand times that those were the worst sort of Muggles. That he can't possibly be a happy boy there the way you claimed he would be."

"Harry Potter is not happy," Arabella Figg agreed viciously.

"Nobody can be happy around Petunia Evans," Severus spat.

"Fine," Dumbledore sighed. "You all know about the wards. And if you're all so insistent and before he ends up in a Muggle orphanage, we'll tighten wards on Hogwarts and bring him here until Severus finds a new family."

"Why me?" he cried indignantly.

"You said you would," Dumbledore argued gently.

"If there was no other way."

"There is no other way. Minerva and I will be strengthening security and Arabella will accompany you. See if you can get the boy. If he does not want to leave, you will not force him. You will first find out how he feels about living there. But gently. You know how easy it is to wreck havoc on a child's mind if you're too forceful with your Legilimency. And no magic other than that. Understood?" Albus Dumbledore said, unusually sternly.

Severus nodded grumblingly. Of course he did not want the boy to grow up in the fangs evil fangs of _Tuney _but he certainly did not want to take care of him himself. He could not. Not only because it was Potter's child but also because he did not like children. Children were messy and noisy and aggravating. Children cried and screamed for candy and always demanded and wanted and made an absolute spectacle when they did not receive what the demanded and wanted.

He did not want a child. He did not want children. And he did not want to take care of Harry Potter.

"Shall we before he changes his mind again?" Arabella Figg tugged on his arm, shuffling by his side in her weird clothes and he only nodded and with a curt nod towards Minerva and Albus, her looking deadly at her husband, he stepped into the floo, right behind the middle aged woman.

xx

He heard them. They were usually always so dumb and so loud that he could hear them from a mile off and that gave him plenty of time to hide or at least get a little distance between himself and chubby, slow Dudley and his gang. Piers was usually quickest of them all and could have probably caught Harry, even if he ran at full speed but Piers never dared to be quicker than Dudley. Because then, Dudley would begin hating Piers and Piers did not want that. Why Piers did not want that was beyond Harry. Or why anyone wanted to be friends with Dudley was beyond Harry.

Dudley was mean and a bully and a horrible person. And he always got everything he wanted from Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. Just because he was their son and he was only the freaky nephew that sometimes did things he did not mean to do. He did not even know himself how it happened. But sometimes, well, it just did. It scared him just the same, and it startled him. But neither Uncle Vernon, nor Aunt Petunia or Dudley believed him that.

But they didn't believe him anything anyway. When Dudley trampled through the house in dirty shoes, Aunt Petunia did not believe that it hadn't been Harry. Or when Dudley put his greasy fingers all over the glass table, Aunt Petunia did not believe that it hadn't been Harry. When she had just cleaned the table, he got a clip around the ears. But that was never as bad as the fact that even though the fingerprints were clearly Dudleys, since they were so fat compared to his own fingerprints and since he never ate (or got) that much greasy stuff, they did not even see the hard facts. It was always Harry's fault, no matter what. And he hated it. He truly, truly hated it.

It was okay to sleep in the cupboard under the stairs (except when Dudley decided to really stomp on the stairs) and it was okay to do the chores and cook sometimes (because then, Dudley and his friends could not hunt him) but this constant thinking he was lying and constant saying that he was a little freak that did not deserve to be there at all and that they should have brought him to an orphanage, that truly hurt.

Sometimes, or often, Harry wished, someone would come and take him away. Someone who loved him and wanted him. But he had already learned, with his seven years (and his birthday had only been a few days ago and as a gift, he had been given a pair of socks that had thirteen holes in them – he had counted them) that life was not always a fairy tale. And that there was no such thing as a mystery person (probably a tall man that scared everyone but who was kind to Harry and wanted to protect him. Someone who made sure that he wasn't hunted any more and that Dudley could not bully him any more. Someone who would let him have as many books as he wanted and would let him learn things and would not always tell him that he wasn't wanted). Since his parents had died in the car crash, leaving him with a strange looking scar on his forehead as the only reminder, he knew that there was nobody to love him.

Maybe one day, he would find a wife and would have his own children and could love them. That would be magnificent but now was not the time to think about that, now that Dudley was shouting and screaming for him. And egging his friends on. Now was the time to dart behind the bushes and hide underneath them, pressed between the house and the somewhat thorny bushes.

He could just glimpse the street through the thick green leaves and Dudley and Piers, together with two others, Tom and Mark, trotted along there, kicking their shoes against the ground. That wasn't good. If they had to run after him, Dudley was always out of breath and then was rather quickly tired from hitting him. And his other friends, though much fitter than him, would pretend the same and he got off rather lightly. If they only walked along the street and found him, oh Dudley would have a lot of energy left. Not good.

Harry as quietly as he could, curled himself into a tiny, little ball. He did not dare to close his eyes yet. There would be time for that later when they had found him and punched him. He only hoped it wouldn't go on the glasses again. Aunt Petunia had thrown a fit the last time they had hung at a weird angle from his nose and one of the glasses in the glasses had been broken. She had merely shoved some sello-tape into his hands and had snarled at him to fix it and that he would not get new glasses so soon.

But fortunately, it seemed he had thrown them off track, or maybe it was because of Mrs Figg plodding down the streets. Dudley and his friends like Mrs Figg even less than Harry did. And that was, maybe, because Mrs Figg did not think Dudley was cute or sweet or adorable. Mrs Figg did not like Dudley much and she sometimes sent one of her cats after him. Harry did not like Mrs Figg much either. Her house was smelly and she always talked so much about her stupid old cats and he always had to listen.

But there, right next to Mrs Figg, there walked a man. He was tall and broad and looked almost grim. Someone like him would be lovely to have as a kind of Father. Nobody would dare to bully Harry when he walked along with a man like that. Nobody would dare to hit or hunt Harry when they knew that this man took care of Harry.

Maybe it was Mrs Figg's son, Harry thought, but they did not look alike at all. The man had a crooked, long nose and thin lips and wore a black cape. Something like Batman. Oh, he thought, it would be really lovely to have a Father like this. Or an Uncle. Maybe that was enough.

And it was really strange because Mrs Figg and the tall man who wore a cape like Batman went straight to Number 4 Privet Drive. Walked very closely past Harry. So close that Harry could see the man's shoes and Mrs Figg's slippers. He had big feet. And nice shoes. Polished. Harry wondered, briefly, what kind of stuff that man put on his shoes since they were much shinier than any of the ones he had ever cleaned. Not that he had to do that often since it was never right in Aunt Petunia's eyes.

He could only wonder briefly about it because, well, Aunt Petunia shrieked, suddenly. Shrieked a strange word. Something like Sevwus Snake. Or Snape. Snaipe. Sevrus? Severus? Snape? Something like that anyway and Harry tried not to jump there in his hiding place between the house and the thorny bushes but he couldn't help it. The shriek was so loud and so strange and almost as if someone was strangling her and she was shrieking with all the air that was left in her (and that was a lot, as Harry could attest from being yelled at and shrieked at by her on a regular basis), and it frightened him for a moment.

"Harry?" she shrieked then. "Harry Potter!" then, a moment later, "Dudders?"

Aunt Petunia never shouted for them. She disliked making a spectacle of herself in front of the neighbours, so her shouting for them was truly strange and for three or four or five seconds, Harry was unsure whether to come out of his hiding place at all. Whether it was safe for him. But there was always Mrs Figg. She was dotty and she was a crazy cat-lady but she never harmed him. And she always fed him. Even if it was strange food and so, after those three or four or five seconds of hesitation, he scrambled up, his knees hurting on the pebbles on the ground and stood, a heartbeat later, in front of his aunt who looked very pale. Almost a sort of greyish-green in the face.

And there, first with his back towards Harry, then slowly turning around, stood the tall man in the cape. Harry blinked. He had the darkest eyes he had ever seen. They were completely, pitch black and they held his own eyes. Unblinking, while Harry compensated for this with blinking too much, too often.

"He will not stay here," the man said after a moment of only looking in his eyes and then turning towards Aunt Petunia again. "Tuney," he said weirdly. Like he truly hated her.

"Harry," she shrieked again. "Get your things."

He did not understand. He did not understand at all. Where was he supposed to go? What things was he supposed to get? The old blanket? Or his school books? Or the few clothes?

"I don't...what should I get, Aunt Petunia?" he asked slowly, hesitatingly.

"Everything," Mrs Figg said with the kindest smile he had ever seen on her. "You're going with Professor Snape to your new home."

"That we shall see about," the tall man suddenly said and his voice was brilliant. Everyone would be afraid of a voice like that. It was deep, it was rumbling, it was threatening, but sounded so silky. As if it could slip through your fingers and sting you at the same time. "But Mr Potter, you will come with me for the time being."

"Really?" Harry asked before he could stop himself. The man was taking him away? Truly? Really? The man in the cape like Batman, the tall man everyone would be afraid to bully, with the dangerous silky voice would take him? Oh, Harry was not scared. With someone like him, someone like this 'fesser Snape, nobody would Harry-hunt again. And something in that 'fesser Snape's eyes made Harry know that he had nothing to fear for himself.

Someone had come for him.

xx


	2. Chapter 2

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**xx  
**_

He only caught flashes, naturally, since he couldn't delve as deep into a child's mind as he could with an adult but those flashes were enough to convince him that Petunia Evans was not fit to raise this child. It was not so much physical abuse, but constant belittling, lying, keeping him small that he saw. And any question after his parents was apparently even stopped before it could be asked. This child needed a new family, needed people who could prepare him for what was to come. Not that he was fit to do it but he would, if the Headmaster couldn't or wouldn't, find someone who could.

The boy was scrawny, small, thin, his clothes much too big and with holes in them. The trousers hanging low on his frame, kept on his body by an old, worn belt only, the shirt had the length of some of the dresses he had seen women wear and the shoes scuffed and probably too large, too. He wore glasses, a rather quadrangular metal frames, held together by transparent tape, holding one broken lens, and they sat askew on his nose.

Now that he looked at the child, instead of only diving into his mind, he could see a certain resemblance to Potter. The same tousled hair and the same nose but his lower lip was sucked into his mouth and his eyes were uncannily Lily's. So vibrantly green. It might have, Severus thought, something to do with the fact that he had known Lily at the age that boy was now, and that he had not known Potter when he had been so little, but there was something uniquely Lily about him. He merely stood and waited until his aunt asked him to pack his things. Then, Snape could see what exactly it was that reminded him of her. Those eyes, yes, but the expression on his face, the emotions those eyes expressed. Joy. Hope. Anticipation. Trust.

The boy wore trust on his face. Clearly expressed, through those shining, joyful, hopeful, anticipating eyes. He wanted to leave this place and Severus could not, under any circumstances, hold it against the child. Anyone would want to leave this horribly average, terribly class consciously middle class neighbourhood with those identically trimmed lawns and accurately cut rose bushes and the freshly washed cars, and anyone would want to leave this woman with her horse's face on her long, long neck.

Severus Snape was tempted to hex her to make that neck shorter or the head bigger – even though _Tuney's_ head was probably already big enough – but Mrs Figg's hand on his arm kept him, at the very last moment, and the quiet squealing of the boy who had run inside the terribly average house.

"Well, _Tuney_," he said as pleasantly as he ever could, "the son of your own sister. Tsk tsk tsk. Lily will be turning her grave. You are so lucky she didn't come back as a ghost to haunt you and your family."

"Snape, get off my property!" she shrieked. "Nothing good ever came of you. If it hadn't been for you, Lily would have never discovered all that weird freakishness."

He chuckled evilly, a sound, he found, everyone was rather frightened off. "Of course not. She would have lived right next to you here with a boring husband and a boring child and you could share a bottle of sweet sherry between yourselves every Monday night. Oh if only I hadn't come along."

"You were never any good. You should rot in hell," she hissed, spit flying towards Snape who made rather a spectacle of wiping it away with a clean, white, neatly folded handkerchief.

"I have no doubt that I will," he sneered. "But I will outlive you."

"Severus," Mrs Figg tugged on his sleeve. "Maybe you should get the boy."

"I should have known you were one of that lot, Mrs Figg!" Petunia squealed. "You were always so..."

"Yes, dear, quite. I am unsure what you mean about one of them," she interrupted her and Severus was, secretly, quite impressed with the middle aged woman, "but rest assured that now, that my job is done, I will move away from here as quickly as I can."

"Job?" Petunia asked, paling, "what job?"

"Keeping an eye on you, _Tuney_," Severus smirked. "You do know that _our lot_ have ways of watching you, don't you?" It was fun watching the tone of her skin grow greyer and greyer, and with that lovely green tinge on her cheeks, she almost matched her greyish-green carpet in the hall. She deserved it though. Every moment of agonising wondering how much they had seen, what they had seen.

"Wha...what did you see?" she whispered, her eyes wide and fearful.

"Enough to make sure you will never see poor Harry again," Mrs Figg replied angrily, her fists on her hips.

"Everything, _Tuney. Our lot_ sees everything."

"Harry Potter!" she shouted, loudly, into the house. "Come here right this moment."

"I'm here, Aunt Petunia," he said in a little voice, a blanket clutched to his chest, and a book bag slung over his shoulder. The boy could obviously not have a lot of possessions if he had returned quite so quickly. But in all honesty, it was not that, which bothered and bemused Severus. It was the same trust in the child's eyes that he had spotted before. And with that look on his face, he seemed utterly unlike James Potter.

"Say good bye to your aunt then, Harry," Mrs Figg said gently. "We will get you out of here now."

"Oh yes, take him there and turn him into a freak like yourselves," she hissed again. "But we don't ever want to see him again."

"Do you think, Petunia Evans," Severus said menacingly, taking a step towards her, drawing his wand as he went and pointing it at her chest, "that anyone will let that child come near you ever again?"

"Get that thing away from me," she shrieked in fear and tried to take a step back but was held in place by an invisible spell.

"Lily's child, Petunia. Just think that this is your sister's child," he hissed back at her. "And I know you loved your sister."

He released the spell and turned his eyes on the boy. "Come along now. Don't dawdle."

"Good bye, Aunt Petunia," he said and he seemed to have been taught some manners, Severus observed, as he saw him raising up his little hand towards his aunt, obviously wanting to shake hers. But the woman remained as cold as she had been before and merely looked past the hand, and, incidentally, past the boy.

"Good bye, Harry," she only said, her voice cold. She turned around, her back to them and when Arabella Figg smiled at him again and beckoned him to her once more, he darted out of the house, and Petunia, as she noticed, closed the door quickly and Severus heard the lock click twice.

"Bloody woman," Mrs Figg muttered angrily. "Can't even bring herself to...urgh."

"Quite," Severus agreed, "may we floo from your house?"

She nodded and Snape began to walk beside her, looking briefly over his shoulder to see what the boy was doing. And he just stared with eyes and mouth wide open.

"I said don't dawdle," Severus glared at the boy and he ran as fast as his little legs could carry him to his side. Probably scared now that he realised that he was truly taken away, he thought. But quite suddenly, there was a little something shoving at his hand and he wanted to wave it away, maybe a sort of insect with a touch that light, but it was insistent and as he looked down to see what it was – he realised it was the boy, tentatively reaching out for him, trying, apparently, to take his hand.

xx

Aunt Petunia had explained about a billion times that Dudley was never to go with strangers. Never follow them, even if they offered lollies or a bunny, or a kitten. Never. She had always said that those strangers made little boys do ugly things and Harry wondered for a moment, if this 'fesser Snape was one of those strangers. But since Aunt Petunia seemed to know him, and since Mrs Figg knew him and since Mrs Figg, who was no stranger and who had never in her life given him a lolly, told him to come as well, he supposed he would be fine.

And that 'fesser Snape seemed really nice. He was just as he had expected him to be. He even scared Aunt Petunia! And nobody else could scare her. Apart from neighbours who talked about her and apart from one of those dogs from Aunt Marge. But she never said so and she always pretended not to be scared. But 'fesser Snape had scared her. A lot.

Harry wasn't exactly sure why, but he had sort of liked it when she had looked so scared. And green and grey in the face. It was usually always him that was scared by her. And now, it was different. He had packed all his things. All his books were in his book bag in any case and he had only grabbed his blanket, had put some of the clean clothes in the book bag and the drawing of a bird and a house and a garden he had pinned to the wall in the cupboard on top of them and had been ready to leave. The book bag also seemed a lot less heavy than it had been when he had carried all the books from school at the last day of school, even if there was more inside now.

Maybe this was one of the freakish things that sometimes happened around him. Like the time when Dudley's hair had been green for five seconds. Or when he had suddenly appeared on the roof instead of the garden where he had stood a moment longer.

He shrugged one shoulder. 'fessers were usually smart people, right? Maybe he could ask 'fesser Snape some time in the future. Or maybe...well, he wasn't sure where he would be going now. But he most certainly knew that he did not want to be left behind. And when Aunt Petunia did not want Dudley to get lost, or get left behind, she always still made him walk with his hand in hers. Dudley hated it and always whined and cried and complained but Aunt Petunia never let go. So, if he held 'fesser Snape's hand, he would not be left behind either.

Harry of course did not know if the 'fesser would like that and so he reached up slowly, his fingertips brushing very, very lightly against his hand. 'fesser Snape didn't react and Harry brushed a little more and that, at least, made him wave his hand a little and, when Harry touched it again, he looked down and saw his hand.

Harry smiled. He wanted to explain to the man, without words, that he did not want to get lost, that he wanted to leave this place, that his dream had come true but it seemed the man did not understand him at all.

"You're not a baby, Potter. Keep up now," the man said surprisingly gently and Harry knew he was right. He was seven years old already and way less daft than Dudley. He would keep his eyes on the 'fesser and on Mrs Figg and would just stay very, very close. Did not, under any circumstances, have to go back to Aunt Petunia. Anything would be better than living there.

But he didn't even know where they were going. They had not explained anything at all and he was always so very nosy, Aunt Petunia had said, so he had not really dared to ask. Maybe he had to live with Mrs Figg and he wasn't sure he liked that. It was better than Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, yes, but there were always sooo many cats around. And Harry supposed one or two wouldn't be so bad but an entire army of cats was just too much even for him.

He looked up questioningly at the tall man and he seemed to understand. Or maybe he had meant to tell him the entire time and with his bumbling along and that babyish trying to taking his hand, he just hadn't found the right moment.

"We're going to Hogwarts," 'fesser Snape explained and spoke very slowly. That great voice said every single one as if it was the most important in the world and even though Harry had no idea what Hogwarts meant, it sounded cool. Almost, he thought, like a magic castle.

"Severus," Mrs Figg interrupted, "I'm not sure they told him about magic. And about you-know-what." They had reached her house and before the 'fesser said anything, he had stepped inside and Harry followed him closely – not getting lost now. Not getting to be left behind. But before he could get used to the darkness inside the house and the meowing of the cats, the man had sort of swooped down. Well, it looked like that but he had only bent forwards.

"Potter, do you know about magic?" he asked blatantly and Harry was confused. Uncle Vernon said magic was just tricks, it just meant that the eye was slower than the hand of the so-called magician. That none of it was real.

"It doesn't exist, sir," he said very quietly. "Uncle Vernon says some people just do it to squeeze money out of the hard-working, honest people." He looked up at 'fesser Snape and judging by the man's thunderous expression on his face, he had said the wrong thing.

"Do you know what happened to your parents?" he asked and his voice, other than his face, sounded incredibly calm. Deadly calm.

"In a car crash, sir," he whispered. "I survived but I have this scar now, see?" he pushed his fringe back and pointed with a finger on the scar on his forehead. "It's funny-shaped and Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon hate it."

He focused on 'fesser Snape and he seemed to be really angry now. But he had only said the truth. He shrugged with one shoulder and bent down to pet Tufty who had wound herself around his legs. She was one of the prettier cats, orangey fur white white stripes and a white nose and she looked almost like a mini-tiger, Harry always thought. "Hey there," he whispered softly but kept his eyes and ears on Mrs Figg and 'fesser Snape, even as he put his book bag on the ground and it went there with a heavy thump. It sounded, he wondered quickly, heavier than it really was.

But then, the 'fesser, who seemed to be getting more angry every moment, turned to Mrs Figg and Mrs Figg said: "See? See why I had to act?"

xx

The boy knew absolutely nothing. Nothing. Lily and Potter died in a car crash? A car crash? He felt rage surging through him. To lie to the boy like this. And despite the rage, he knew he had been right in his assessment. Petunia in her inexplicable hatred towards anything that did not fit into her established pattern of living. Her absolute loathing of anything magical. But that she did not even shake the boy's hand when he so politely tried to say good bye, it had stirred something in him.

Had stirred something that was now completely pushed away by anger.

"See? See why I had to act?" Arabella Figg asked, radiating anger herself.

"Yes," he bristled. "Dumbledore has to hear this.

"Don't you think you should explain first?" she asked, nodding her head towards the child.

"Let Dumbledore do it," he continued and had to clench his jaw, had to clench his hands into fist for fear that he might hex the woman's living room into splinters.

The boy just sat there, petting the half-kneazle and Severus was surprised by how well he had taken all this. Well, he was probably used to keep his head down. Nothing he did not understand. And he would have probably acted the same way if there had been someone, back then, a long time ago, how would have taken him away. Probably. No, honestly, he just sat there and petted the ugly animal and looked at him. Again with that trust in his eyes. And a bit of fear, it seemed as well. That, however, was not surprising. He knew the air crackled with his anger. And rightly so.

He would find a good family for him. If Dumbledore couldn't do it. And well, if he was healthy (which Severus doubted) and did not have to stay in the Infirmary (which he doubted) and if there was nobody else in the castle who would swoon over the child (which he doubted), he could sleep on his couch. He was rather small after all.

And he had tried to take his hand. His hand. Snape snorted almost. "Come along," he said sternly, his eyes on the boy. "We're going to Hogwarts now."

The boy nodded, rubbed behind the half-kneazle's ear one last time and picked up his book bag with ease. It should have been very heavy by the way it looked, the way books and clothes poked out of the broken seams and he just lifted it. The boy did not look overly strong but he couldn't have put a charm on it, or could he?

"Give me that," he said harshly and the boy, after a moment of not understanding what he meant, gave him the bag. Featherlight. A charm on it. A charm that was cancelled after a moment of being in his hand and since he was not truly prepared for it to grow so heavy suddenly, his arm was weighed down by the truly heavy bag. Severus arched his eyebrows. The boy wanted to get away as quick as possible. And he had unconsciously made his bag lighter. Astonishing, he thought.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" he snarled and the boy hurried to his side, looking at him questioningly.

"Good bye, Harry," Mrs Figg said friendly.

"Good bye, Mrs Figg," he piped and obviously waited. Well, if he had never heard of magic, how should he have known what a floo was. Snape groaned and, despite the fact that he was still carrying the boy's bag, he extended his hand.

We'll use the floo, Mr Potter," he explained slowly.

"You might want to pick him up. Flooing can be scary and..."

"Take my hand and don't keep me waiting," he said sharply and the boy immediately reached for his hand and pushed his little one in his. It was not as soft as he had expected a small boy's hand to be. There was a clear scar on the back of his hand, just where Severus's thumb rested.

"Good bye, Mrs Figg and thank you," he said, "on behalf of the Wizarding World."

"It's Arabella. And you're welcome. We owe him a lot," she replied but by that time, he had already stepped into the flames, noticing how the boy shivered a little in fear and pressed himself closer to his leg.

xx

It had been horrible. He had held on as tightly as he could to 'fesser Snape's hand but that had not really been enough. His leg was solid and long and he pressed himself against it because he spun around and was whipped around and he tasted something truly terrible in his mouth. It was really, really icky. As if he was eating ash. And maybe he was because they had stepped into a fireplace. But they had not been burned, the had been spun around. And it felt as if it lasted for an eternity but some time later, ages and ages of terrible taste in his mouth and dizziness, they landed somewhere and he couldn't hold on to the hand of the man any more and fell on his knees on the ground, trying to swallow the ashy taste.

"Here," said the 'fesser and gave him a little funny shaped bottle but Harry could only shake his head. He would not take anything from the man. Not from strange men. Even though he still wasn't sure whether he was a stranger if Mrs Figg and Aunt Petunia knew him.

"It will help," he added and his voice sounded very different. It was kinder and gentler and silkier.

"But...," he whispered.

"Drink and I will explain."

Harry nodded slowly and knew he had no choice. He put the little bottle on his lips and drank.

"Ergh," he said when he had swallowed it. It tasted like bogies and cat spit and the 'fesser smirked.

"Not to your liking?"

Harry shook his head and but felt better already. He wasn't sure which taste in his mouth had been better, bogies and cat spit or ash but his stomach felt a lot less dizzy and he could open his eyes.

The room he sat in on the floor was absolutely magnificent!

**_xx_**


	3. Chapter 3

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx  
**_

Harry sat on the softest carpet imaginable, his fingers absently stroking it, as his eyes slowly, as to not miss a spot, wandered around this room. It was about twice as big as Aunt Petunia's and Uncle Vernon's living room but he had never even imagined there could be a room like this.

There were pictures on the walls with people on them, but those people moved and one of them even gasped, another snored, a third seemed to stare at him and mutter something he couldn't hear. There were plenty more pictures and they all moved and looked at him with interest. Or so it seemed to Harry. The spaces on the walls unoccupied by those pictures were covered with books, leather-covered books and for a fleeting moment, the boy thought about how much work it would be to dust them all. Aunt Petunia disliked books standing in the open like that. She said they were nice to look at (outside, not inside) but awful dust-gatherers.

Across the room, across from where he sat, still trying to swallow the taste of the stuff 'fesser Snape had given him was a huge, dark desk. Big enough that three or four Harrys could have hidden underneath it and on the top, there were about a billion different things. A nice feather from some bird, an inkwell, a few rolled up bits of paper, something round and glassy and plenty of other things and papers, apparently, Harry could not see from where he was sitting, stroking the carpet. Behind the desk was a large shelf and on it stood an old, ratty hat, and it seemed to move just slightly, but that might be, Harry thought, only trick of the light falling in from the vast windows.

And there, just there, was a perch. A perch with a bird on it. An enormous bird about the size of the swans in the pond he had seen in the park but with red feathers and a golden tail and a golden beak. The bird sort of hummed a gentle melody which at first sounded odd to Harry's ears but a moment later, he felt like letting himself falling on the soft carpet, resting a bit, because here, nothing could harm him and nobody would hunt him and he would not have to dust the books. He wasn't sure where that feeling was coming from, the 'fesser merely stood there and watched him impatiently and the people in the pictures were still looking, or some of them, staring at him, but he felt so much hope and joy in his heart that he wanted to just burst. He took several deep breaths, closing his eyes as well to the song the bird hummed and only heard that.

He smelled different things too, now more than when his eyes had been open. The faintest smell of lemons hit his nose, just a little bit stronger than the dust probably gathering on the books and something he couldn't recognise. But it all made a wonderful blend and Harry wished he could just stay there on the soft carpet with his eyes closed, or open, taking in this wonderful room. But the bird stopped singing and though he felt a bit better than he had before, the dizziness gone, the insecurity about the 'fesser gone. Here, he wanted to stay.

xx

The cheek of the boy. Almost sprawling on the floor, his eyes closed dreamily. Yes, Fawkes sang and it calmed him too but no reason to to sit there like an imbecile, swaying to the phoenix's song and sniffing the air.

If he had not seen the clarity of the child's mind during the Legilimency, he would have thought him mentally unstable. Off his rocker. Gone around the bend. Well, but he remembered, involuntarily, the first time he had heard Fawkes sing and even though he did not really want to admit it, he supposed he had looked, back then, quite similarly to how the boy looked like at the moment.

However, he had to find the Headmaster, who was clearly not in his office and he had not even received an answer when he had specifically called him. Fawkes looked at him with his searching, black eyes and a moment later, stopped his song. He wasn't sure why he had let the child listen to this, why he had stayed in the office for longer than necessary after it had been clear that Albus Dumbledore was not there, but maybe Fawkes had compelled him to stay there and listen for a while as well.

"Mr Potter," said Snape sharply. "Come along."

The boy scrambled to his feet, a content, happy smile on his face, and for the first time, Severus could see that he was missing two teeth. Upper central teeth. Of course he would be teething. Severus groaned silently and rolled his eyes to himself. He had not yet quite realised how young he truly was. Teeth falling out, or kicked out, probably, by his idiotic cousin. He had not seen it in his mind. And the boy had always had his mouth closed so far.

"You can leave your bag here for the time being," he added gruffly when the boy stood by his side, looking expectantly up at him. "What is it?"

"What kind of bird is that, sir?" the boy asked and Snape had not noticed before either, how clear his speech was, once he opened his mouth properly.

"It's a phoenix," he replied.

"Are they real?" he asked back, his eyes wide and full of wonder. Oh Severus would strangle the bird for making the boy so confident and hopeful. It would have been easier to just scare him into going to the Infirmary or somewhere else. But now that he had heard Fawkes's song, he just was just – boyish. Curious. Full of questions, probably. And such a silly question.

"He is sitting there, is he not?" Snape snapped.

"Yes, but," the boy hesitated for a moment, "I'm wondering if I'm in a dream. I usually wake up when I ask myself that question," he added rapidly and scrunched up his eyes tightly, his eyebrows beetled together.

Severus waited a few seconds before he drew a deep breath and spoke. "I can assure you, this is no dream."

"That's what people say in my dreams," the boy muttered, his eyes still tightly close and Snape saw his right hand sneaking up to his left forearm and then pinching slightly. The child sighed happily then. "No dream?" he asked, looking up from under his fringe.

"No dream, Mr Potter. Now if you could be so kind as to get moving. I'd be very much obliged," said Snape, his voice dripping with sarcasm but the silly child only nodded happily and skipped to his side.

"What do phoenixes do, 'fesser Snape?" he asked as he began to walk beside him, to the door out of the office.

Oh that bloody chicken. Had made him all cheerful and happy and utterly unafraid. That's that phoenixes did. Amongst other things. But it was not his place to tell. He would not explain the boy about magic and Hogwarts and that his parents had not died in a car crash. It was not his job. He had only acted as a messenger or an owl, more like, fetching the boy. And that only because Petunia Evans knew him and hated him. That was the only reason and now it was someone else's turn to look after the child. He would, if pressed, try and help to find a family. But he was not the one to answer his questions.

"It's a bird, Mr Potter. He sits, he flies, he preens his feathers," he answered gruffly.

"And he sang," the boy said cheerily. "I liked what he hummed or sang or I don't know how he did it. Did you like it, sir?"

Snape rolled his eyes. The Infirmary wasn't far. It was Poppy Pomfrey's duty to take care of witches and wizards. And with a clean conscience, he could leave the boy there. Just up a staircase and through a corridor. Not far at all. And then he could bombard the mediwitch with his questions.

"Did you like it, sir?" he repeated, a slight lisp, he noticed now, audible when he said sir. Well, at least the boy had some manners. Even if he asked question after question.

"I do not mind it," he replied non-committally.

"Oh look, 'fesser Snape. I've never seen stairs like that," the child gushed with wide eyes and that infernal lisp even there at his name. And what was 'fesser? It was _Pro_fessor. No, not his problem. Poppy or someone else would teach him. And maybe she could stop that lisp as well. Now that he had noticed it, it was all he heard in his speech. And all that only because he saw the spiral staircase leading to and from the Headmaster's office.

"Will I fall down?"

"If you don't hold on to the rail you will," he snapped but instead of looking scared, the child giggled and skipped – skipped! – down the stairs, his hand only on the rail. Not holding onto it. Someone else's to deal with. Not his job. Even though Poppy Pomfrey would have his hide if he delivered him with a broken neck. And that wasn't quite the sense of the entire exercise. The boy would never kill the Dark Lord if he was dead himself. Had to keep an eye on him.

Snape groaned. If he wanted to survive, the boy would have to survive. "What is it now?" he asked testily when the boy stood stockstill and stared.

xx

Those stairs had been fun. His trousers were a bit long and for a moment, he had almost thought he would fall down but 'fesser Snape had said that he would fall only in such a nice, kind, joking voice. Of course he wouldn't fall down a few stairs. He was no baby anymore. He had caught himself but that had made him even quicker and he felt pleasantly dizzy when he had arrived at the bottom and he had needed a moment to adjust to the relatively dim light. But when his eyes could see right again, he was astonished and surprised and shocked and absolutely, a hundred-thousand percent sure that he _was_ dreaming. No _normal_ person, as Aunt Petunia would say, could think of something like this, could build something like this.

They stood in a long, long corridor, the walls were made of stone and there were a few stones visible between more pictures on the walls. Pictures that moved as well and Harry heard one of the people in one of the pictures shriek. Possibly a girl, he thought. Girls always shrieked. There were a few windows, scattered around, and they were all sort of barred and those bars threw shadows in the corridor which looked immensely interesting and beautiful. Lovely patterns on the stony floor as well.

And there, when he looked straight ahead were more staircases, huge and long and – oh – one of them was moving. From left to right. And then the other, from right to left.

"'fesser Snape, they're moving," he gasped.

"Yes," he drawled.

"Is it real?" he asked again, his mouth hanging open.

"Obviously," he drawled again. "Now if you have stared enough, can we get a move on?"

"But...but it's a dream. It must be. The pictures are moving and the stairs are moving. There are no moving stairs and no moving pictures. I mean there are films. And those are sort of pictures that move but they look different. I'm dreaming, 'fesser Snape," his voice faded in a whisper. It was too good to be true anyhow. There he was, hiding in the bushes, thinking how lovely lovely lovely it would be to have a tall, strong man taking him away from Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon and Dudders and a moment later, as if by magic, there was 'fesser Snape. A good dream though. And he would maybe be able to draw a picture if he remembered all of this so vividly once he woke up.

"I assure you again, it is no dream. Now come along, Madam Pomfrey is probably already waiting for you," the man said slowly as if Harry was stupid and couldn't understand. But he wasn't stupid at all. He just thought that something as good as this could never happen to him. And moving staircases? Talking, moving pictures? That could only be magic and Uncle Vernon had been very sure to tell him time and time again that magic was not real and that it was only a way to get money from the honest, hard-working people. But hadn't 'fesser Snape not mentioned magic before? Just before he had asked how his parents had died?

Harry frowned a little. He didn't understand but why would the 'fesser lie to him about this being a dream? He seemed so real and when he reached out as he walked, he could even touched his sleeve (not his hand, he was not a baby) and could even feel the cloth his Batman-cape was made of. And that never happened in a dream. No. So this was real. It had to be.

But the moving stairs and the entire strange atmosphere of this place confused him still and at the same time, he felt a deep sort of contentment. Something inside that made him want to sigh happily all the time.

But – who was Madam Pomfrey?

"Who is Madam Pomfrey?" he asked curiously.

"The mediwitch," he growled.

"What's a mediwitch? Is it a real witch? But Uncle Vernon said there are no witches and wizards and that they all pretend to be something they're not and that some of those are poor souls who pray to the earth or something," Harry explained.

He looked angry. 'fesser Snape in his lovely Batman-cape that nicely flowed over the ground, looked truly angry and Harry couldn't figure out what he had said, or what had happened that had made him angry now.

"Mr Potter, the explanations will come later, but yes, Madam Pomfrey is a real witch. You should ask her the same question," 'fesser Snape explained in a weird tone of voice. Almost like he was mocking him, or as if he was making fun of something else, he didn't know.

"Why?" he asked.

"Ask her that," he said and sounded a tiny bit annoyed. Well, Harry was used to people being annoyed by him and at least the 'fesser had not get shouted at him to shut up. But he could be quiet. There were so many things to see anyhow. It seemed truly magical.

xx

Severus knew there was a trick stair just ahead of them. And he truly did not want to let the boy sink into it. After all, he would have to pull him out afterwards. So it was maybe better to warn him. But he was so small that he could possibly not jump over it. Maybe, he thought, he should just levitate him over it. But that would make him ask even more questions. And if he lifted him over the stairs, it would be just as bad. But at least that would not be as complicated as explaining a levitating charm.

"Careful," he said gruffly and the boy stopped stepping down the stairs immediately and before he could even react, before the boy understood, he lifted him up under the arms and swept him over the trick-stair and set him on his feet again. The child only looked at him in surprise and astonishment, his mouth hanging open. "Trick stair," he said gruffly and continued his way down the stairs, despite the fact that the boy needed a moment to compose himself. It made Snape smirk that it was so simple, at least for the time being, to shock him into silence.

He walked briskly, continuing his way to the Infirmary and heard the boy following him quickly, almost running behind him. His trousers were too long and too large and Severus only waited for the thump. The thump that would come for sure when the boy stumbled over them and fell. But none came and he had caught up with him and walked smilingly beside him.

"What would it have done? The tricky stair, I mean," he asked, his breathing only a little quicker than it had been before.

"You would have stuck in it," he replied gruffly. So the silence had not lasted long.

"Wicked cool!" the boy exclaimed joyfully.

"Wicked cool?" he mumbled to himself. Oh he had to get him to Madam Pomfrey. Couldn't understand that at all and Pomfrey was obviously good with children. She had to be. And she could take him until someone else could take him in. And she would answer all his questions, he thought to himself as he pushed the door to the Infirmary open.

"Poppy?" he called. "Madam Pomfrey?" there was no answer and only a little note fluttered through the air towards him. A note. Fluttering. Towards him. And the little fiend by his side gasped. Loudly.

Snape caught the note, growling.

"Well, Potter, Madam Pomfrey, the mediwitch, is not here. Just wonderful," he said sarcastically and turned on his heel.

_I am gone for the day. The floo to St Mungo's is open if there is an emergency. _

Just his lucky day. But they had all known that he would get the boy. And now they were gone? Oh he would find them. And if he had to drag the boy behind him.

xx

The 'fesser walked incredibly fast and Harry had to fight to keep up with him. But he did not want to be left behind, even if he was horribly tired by now. He had, after all, spent the morning hiding from Dudley and running from him. And now all that running around made his legs ache.

'fesser Snape opened so many doors, called for people but nobody was there. Nobody, except, well, Harry was tired and he wasn't sure it was real.

Because, just as he opened another door, Harry looked around and there was a little man, hovering in the air cross-legged. That little man wore a orange bow tie and a pinstripe suit – but it was red and pink. And a purple hat sat on his head. And that little man had a wicked grin on his face. But no, people, not even little ones hovered. He must be overly tired, he thought and shrugged to himself before he turned back to the 'fesser who called for someone like Fit-Wick.

"Who do we have here?" he heard suddenly behind him though, "Batty gitty slimy Snapey. Out to look for trouble? Naughty, naughty. And who's that? Ickle boy. Slimy Snapey did not steal a child. Naughty."

"Peeves," the 'fesser bellowed. So the little man was real and that confused Harry even further and he had to lean against the 'fesser's leg for a moment because his own legs hurt so much from running.

"Scar on ickle boy. Can't be that it's wee potty Potter? Wee Potty at Hogwarts already. Pottigy Prodigy?"

"Peeves," the 'fesser shouted now, "I will get the Bloody Baron. And where is everyone?"

The little man who was apparently called Peeves giggled wildly and did a somersault in the air before he pulled something out of his pocket and looked at it closely, then with one scrunched up eye, he pushed whatever it was slightly away as if he was aiming to throw it at the 'fesser and him and Harry pushed himself even closer to his legs. He didn't seem evil, the little man, but 'fesser Snape wasn't scary at all and he had lifted him over the trick stair and had not let him sink into it. 'fesser Snape was good to him. Even if he made him run around but for now, he didn't know what that little man called Peeves was aiming at them and so the 'fesser's legs seemed the safest place.

"Hogwartsy staffy people all gone out. Wheeee," he whizzed around them, and suddenly, the 'fesser raised his wooden stick and there was a glimmery, shimmery bubble surrounded him and the 'fesser and something like a water bomb filled with slimy stuff bounced of the bubble and Harry smiled tiredly and happily.

Oh, the 'fesser was already protecting him.

xx

The little fiend leaned against his legs and yawned. Actually yawned. Peeves had zoomed away and he could cancel the shield that had protected them. The entire staff gone? Why?

Oh he would just hex Albus into next week once he could get his fingers on him.

"'fesser Snape?" the boy asked and he sounded quite, quite pitiful. Maybe he had walked too fast. He had had to run to keep up with him.

"What?" he snapped.

"I'm a bit tired and my legs hurt," he sounded almost as if he was about to cry but when Snape looked down, he only yawned and had his head against his hip, too. Oh Poppy would kill him and Arabella Figg would kill him and Albus would probably kill him. But then again it was their own fault if they weren't there.

The boy yawned again and his eyes fell shut and Snape grumbled a little before he picked him up bodily and carried the boy, protesting internally, to his quarters. There was nobody else around and he couldn't let the boy sleep somewhere in a corridor.

It was strange, though, that the boy immediately tried to strangle him with his arms around his neck and his tiny head pressed against his shoulder. It was truly, truly strange.

And it felt even stranger when he dumped the boy on his couch and covered him with a blanket and the boy blinked tiredly, with a smile though, up at him.

"Thank you for taking me away, 'fesser Snape," he whispered before he closed his eyes again and Severus had no idea why the child had said that.

xx


	4. Chapter 4

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx  
**_

Some time during the night, Severus thought for a long time about picking up the boy and bringing him up to the Headmaster's quarters. He was not used to sharing his own rooms with anyone, much less a twisting and turning and whining and sighing child. Who did all that while he slept. Snape could not close his own door either because if the little fiend woke up and just wandered out of the rooms, he might get lost anywhere. And that would cost _him_ his head.

And the boy had featherlighted his bag – which was still in the Headmaster's office – Severus had no doubt that he would, if scared enough, either take his wards down and run, or destroy his living room. Both not very nice options. So, he had to leave his door open to interfere as soon as the boy began to riot in his living room. And with an open door, he could not sleep. Especially with the noises the boy made while sleeping.

Honestly, how could one little child – and Potter was little – make so many noises? At times, Severus even though he was talking in his sleep. But – well – who would not have nightmares after living with Petunia Evans? Snape knew he would. Evil nightmares. Probably worse than the ones he suffered from now. And the boy tossed and turned and it was just too loud for him to sleep. He was used to peace at night. At least during the past six years or so. Not quite six. Almost. He had not been woken rudely, from pain, or burning or anything. And while he had been kept up by one Slytherin or the other who needed his advice as Head of House, he had never been kept up all night by a single, little boy. Who was not even a student yet. Who would most likely not even be in his House later on, what with those two Gryffindor parents and an aunt who would end up living in the lavatory with Moaning Myrtle or in the Forbidden Forest with the Acromantulas.

However, some time during that night, Snape realised that he could not possibly dump the boy in Dumbledore's bedroom, especially since he did not fancy seeing him, or his wife in their nightclothes and a about an hour later, he decided that he might as well switch on the lights and read. And that he did. Cursing. Swearing. And complaining quietly. He had only been sent to get the boy. Not keep him.

Oh if there was one shred of evidence (and Severus had no doubt he would find a large junk of evidence) that the Headmaster, or anyone else for that matter, made the rest of the staff leave the castle (well, those who were in during the summer holidays) on account that he was supposed to take care of the boy, there'd be serious – – – somethings. Hexes, probably. And he would leave for the rest of the summer after this ordeal. No matter if he promised he would help strengthening the wards again and no matter if he was truly looking forward to harvesting Piltarboques in the Forbidden Forest. Then they could deal with the annoying, noisy child. And he'd be quietly happy in Spinner's End. End of story.

He never checked the little clock on his bedside cabinet, never quite realised that the sun was rising slowly over the hills and bathing the castle in a beautiful, orangey light. And he heard a little too late over _Potions in Ancient Greece_ that the boy had woken up.

xx

This was softer. It was warmer. There was no spider crawling over him. It smelled less dusty here. More of books and herbs and summer. Yes, it smelled of a cellar in summer. He thought. He wasn't quite sure since he was a little afraid of the cellar in Mrs Figg's house and the Dursley's didn't have one, and Mrs Figg had only taken him down there once when Mr Tibbles had tumbled down the stairs and he had to help. But this smelled similar. He actually liked the smell.

But why would he sleep on something soft and warm in Mrs Figg's cellar? Oh. He didn't. He opened his eyes very, very, very slowly, in case he was still dreaming he didn't want to scare himself into waking up, and the first thing he saw was a low ceiling. Well, cellars probably had low ceilings. And the second thing, Harry saw was bookshelves. Every single wall lined with bookshelves. He might not remember much, but there had not been any books in Mrs Figg's cellar at all. And this room was stuffed with...yes. He was with 'fesser Snape.

'fesser Snape's room! He remembered. Harry had been so tired and then there had been that little man called Peeves who had thrown something at them and the 'fesser had protected him and then he had sort of fallen asleep on his...oh no.

Like a baby. He had fallen asleep on 'fesser Snape's arm. He had carried him. Like an infant. But he remembered being carried and it had been awesome. The 'fesser had let him hug him and he had been very careful while carrying and then he had so nicely and gently and carefully put him on the couch and had covered him. Truly, truly wonderful of him. On the couch! Not on the floor or in a cupboard or somewhere. No. On the couch. With a blanket to cover him. And not his own, ratty old baby-blanket. No, a real, dark-blue, soft, warm, heavy blanket.

He only hoped that the 'fesser wouldn't be too angry that he had drooled a little on his pillow. And, if he didn't get up soon, he would leave an even larger stain somewhere more down there. But the 'fesser had not shown him where the bathroom was and he didn't want to wake him to ask and so, with great regret to leave the warm nest he had built himself during the night on the couch, he scrambled out of it as quietly as he could. He was used to getting up, walking, and doing everything else very quietly. Uncle Vernon always yelled at him when he was too noisy. Of course that was a little dumb, since, well, honestly, when he was only a bit noisy but Uncle Vernon yelled afterwards, he was even noisier. But he was a grown-up and they were allowed a lot of things that children were not. He knew. And he knew that Dudley was allowed to stomp on the stairs, even when Harry was in his cupboard and make as much noise as he wanted to.

Still, he was used to being very silent and so, he tiptoed around the room for a bit, his thighs pressed together tightly. It was a beautiful room, Harry thought, and the early sunlight coming in from the windows made it even prettier. So many books. Harry made a mental note to ask the 'fesser if he had read all of them. But he looked smart so he probably had. He tiptoed around and noticed that he still wore his clothes from the day before. The trousers and the baggy shirt that he had hidden from Dudley and his friends in. Oh, the 'fesser wouldn't be happy if he knew that he had slept in his dirty clothes. But he had been so tired and the 'fesser had obviously only taken his shoes off.

He had taken his shoes off. Harry thought for a moment, standing very still in the middle of the room. No, he couldn't remember a time when Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon had taken his shoes off – or brought him to bed. They must have done because he used to be really little and too small and stupid to do some things himself but he couldn't remember it. And there came 'fesser Snape and on his very first night there, with him, he had taken such good care of him. Had brought him to his couch, tucked him in! When he could have just given him a little push and could have just bellowed at him to go sleep somewhere. But the 'fesser hadn't done that at all. No, he had made the exact opposite, had held him, had put him down gently, had tucked him in.

It was just wonderful. This entire thing he had stumbled into, it was just – like a dream. And he never, never, never wanted to wake up again.

"Mr Potter," he heard suddenly and even though he already stood very, very still, he stiffened further and all kinds of feelings rushed towards him.

What if the 'fesser didn't want him to go wandering around his flat? What if the 'fesser realised he had made a mistake and sent Harry back? He didn't want to go back. Now that he knew what it could be like – even if it had only been only for a few hours, he didn't want to go back to the Dursleys. Never.

"I...I," he stuttered and looked at his socks. They had holes in them and his big toe was poking out. He couldn't help but wriggle it a little before he continued, "I...I...need the loo."

He did not really look up but he could hear the 'fesser sighing dramatically and felt as if he was pointing. "Through there, Mr Potter," he said slowly.

Harry looked up from under his fringe briefly and smiled. So he wasn't angry. So he didn't want to send him away. He was just grumpy in the mornings! That was all. He skipped to the bathroom, had luckily caught him pointing a little in the right direction, and sighed to himself. Didn't send him back.

xx

Little fiend. Little pest. Little...

Stood in the middle of his living room and stared. Just stood, still, very, very still. Now he could be still. During the night, oh no. That was too much for the boy. And he just skipped – skipped! – into the bathroom and Severus stood there in his nightclothes and cold feet on the bloody flagstones. The boy had at least worn socks. Even if there were more holes than fabric left in them. He made a mental note to tell Albus to take the boy shopping, even though – – –

It might be better if people did not immediately recognise him for who he was. The way he saw it, it was bad enough that Peeves had realised who he had with him, who the boy was, but, if he hid the scar, the resemblance to Potter and Lily wasn't that visible. Yes, he had some of Potter's features but he wore different glasses and he looked like a child. Potter was in the memory of the people as a grown up, or adolescent. Not as a little boy who looked more like five or six than seven. Oh but he had Lily's eyes exactly. No. Lots of people had such eyes, especially in the Wizarding World green eyes were nothing special. If he could hide that scar, he should be able to get through Diagon Alley without people knowing who he was.

But then again, that was not his problem. He would bring the boy immediately to the Headmaster now. If he had returned. If not, he would...he didn't know what. He would think of something.

Snape still stood there in his bare feet and pyjamas as the little pest returned from the bathroom, looking as chipper as anyone could look, smiling and those eyes looking up at him.

"Good morning, 'fesser Snape," he said, almost apologetically. "I'm sorry I haven't said it before but I really had to go and didn't know where it was so it was really lucky that you woke up when you did and showed me. Your sofa is very comfortable. Thank you for giving me the blanket. And this room is awesome. Did you read all those books? Aunt Petunia doesn't let me read a lot because Dudders doesn't like to read too. He likes to play and sleep and eat and hit me. And because he's lazy, I'm not allowed to read much either. So did you read all of them? What are they about? Are they interesting?" he only stopped when his stomach growled loudly. "Sorry," he said quickly.

Severus stared. The boy was just full of questions. And talked without taking a breath. And why was he apologising for an empty stomach? Oh. Yes. Quite. He had fallen asleep without dinner and who knew what Petunia had given him before that.

"Go wash yourself and brush your teeth and that hair of yours," he growled. "And yes, I have read all those books," he added as an afterthought.

The boy looked at the floor again, his eyes cast way down. "Erm."

"Erm?" Snape drawled mockingly. "Erm what?"

He looked up and those eyes met his. Lily's eyes. Remarkably like Lily's eyes. To him at least. And those eyes showed every emotion so clearly. The boy was embarrassed. And a little afraid. Gone was the rattling joy of his speech only moments ago. No, he was scared. And Lily's eyes in his reflected that. Clearly. Severus felt a piercing pain in his abdomen as those eyes looked in his. If Lily had ever looked at him that way, he would have done everything in his power to stop that look. Everything. And now he had made her boy look that way. Though why, he wasn't sure yet. But those eyes. They had haunted him and now they were there. Just standing there in the head of a little boy and – oh, he told himself sternly, snap out of it.

"What is it, Mr Potter?" he asked and tried to sound a little more gentle.

"I don't have a toothbrush, sir," the boy replied very quietly.

Severus sighed. Of course he didn't. Nor clothes he could change into. And if he took the boy into the Great Hall for breakfast, looking like this, the Headmaster and Minerva, and Poppy, if they were there, would all reprimand him and Minerva probably wouldn't stop short of hexing him. So, because he liked his peace and liked all parts of his body where they were, and unhexed, he sat down on the sofa and beckoned the boy closer.

"Come here," he said gruffly. All that before breakfast, before a cup of tea and all this after a sleepless night. Slowly, though, the child did come closer, walking very silently and treading carefully. He stopped just in front of his knees and did not quite dare to look him in the eyes again. Well, the boy was damaged by Petunia so maybe he would have to be a little more careful. For the time being. As long as he had him, until he could let Albus and Minerva take care of him. He accioed his wand silently and the boy's eyes went very, very wide.

"Cool," he mumbled under his breath as he saw the wand zooming through the air and being caught and Snape could not stop himself from rolling his eyes.

"Indeed," he replied and before the boy could protest, he had pulled him closer, to stand between his legs. "Now," he continued, "stand still."

"What are you doing?" he asked in his little voice.

"I'm going to fix your clothes and brush your teeth. And as a side-effect, you might stop asking infernal questions about whether this is real and whether witches and wizards do exist," he drawled, quite content that he had thought of this. He did not have to explain at all. The boy was obviously not quite stupid and he would probably accept the fact that witchcraft and wizardry did exist if he felt it on his own body. The teeth-brushing-charm was – well – not that nice but that he would have to just accept. And he would stop asking those questions about magic.

"Stand still, I said," he growled when the boy twitched and Severus locked his knees just a little to keep him in place as he waved his wand over the child. The clothes first, he decided, and made the trousers clean and shorter and smaller and a nicer, blacker colour, the baggy shirt smaller and cleaner and instead of that weird rabbit on the front, it now had a nice, simpler, blacker colour. Well, no. That wouldn't do. He had transfigured both the trousers and the shirt into black. No, the shirt would be different. He waved his wand again and it became lovely Slytherin-green. That would do. The socks were black and without holes, the underwear, though he did not see it and had absolutely no wish to, white and squeaky clean.

"Good," he said more to himself than to the boy. "This is fine."

"Erm," the boy stared at himself. "How did you..."

"Mouth open," Snape interrupted and the boy was probably stunned into obeying and a heartbeat later, his mouth had filled with toothpaste-froth and he smirked as the boy spluttered a little.

"Spit," he said a moment later as he held a conjured bowl out to the boy and vanished it then. "And that hair."

The child's stomach growled again and Severus tried with his fingers first, to brush the hair down over his forehead. But the hair wouldn't budge. It just stood right up again. He was deeply annoyed. Even if it was only the Dumbledores and Madam Pomfrey he would encounter today, it would be no mistake to at least let them know that it was unwise to have the boy seen as Harry Potter immediately. He was famous after all (or infamous, a small part of his brain argued).

"What in the name of..." he muttered and attacked the fringe that just wouldn't stay over the scar with both his hands, the wand next to him on the couch.

"It always does that, sir," the boy said meekly. "Aunt Petunia even shaved my head once apart from the front and it was grown back the next day and wouldn't stay that way."

Snape growled and again, tried to handle that fringe with both his hands, pushing it down, trying to stick it to the forehead, smoothing it, flattening it and as soon as he took his hands away, it stood right up again. He was so annoyed by this, that he did not even think about the fact that he actually touched the boy. Not that he would have minded, but he was so focused on the fact that for once, something did not bow to him, that he got very, very angry.

xx

Okay, so the 'fesser wasn't exactly all cuddling and tender and his hands had a rough touch to his hair but it felt almost like he was stroking his hair and his forehead when he tried to flatten his hair against the scar. He hated the scar too, yes, but his hair had a mind of its own. And if Harry had not been so happy with having his hair stroked like that, all the while he had new, clean clothes and the 'fesser even hugged his sides with his knees, he would have pointed at that maybe, if the wand was able to bring him new, clean clothes, it might help with the hair too.

But it was truly awesome. A wooden stick that could do all of it. A wand! Like in a fairy tale. A wizard with a wand who could do all kinds of things with it.

So Harry made an inventory in his head. Magic was real. Magic was what had changed his clothes and magic was what had brushed his teeth. There was no cheap trick as Uncle Vernon had said because, well, Harry knew better now and he was involved in magic being done and 'fesser Snape had not asked for any kind of money. Obviously Uncle Vernon had been wrong. Ha!

But then, a moment later when Harry still only stood and let his head be stroked by the 'fesser, he got a little too rough and pulled on Harry's hair.

"Ouch, 'fesser," he suddenly yelped and the man only glared at him. He hadn't done anything. But that had hurt. A lot.

"Erm, 'fesser, can't magic do that? With my hair, I mean?" he asked timidly, unsure whether he had the right to say that and apparently, he did not have the right. He looked absolutely furious, picked up his wand and pushed it almost in Harry's forehead then muttered something that sounded truly evil and a moment later, Harry had a nice fringe. Hanging almost to his eyes. Covering the scar that people always stared at and asked after and then Aunt Petunia would get really mad.

Disbelieving, he touched his forehead. And it was covered with his own hair.

"There," the 'fesser said, "you wait here while I get ready myself."

Harry nodded, not sure what he had meant – ready for what? – and with a happy smile, sat down on the couch again.

The boy stayed very close to him and even though Severus realised that Peeves was hovering just behind them, the Poltergeist said nothing, blew no raspberry, threw nothing but only followed. Silently. Which was remarkable in itself. And the boy was – skipping again and bouncing and staring and somewhere along the third or fourth fusillade of questions, he had begun to stop listening.

"Mr Potter," he said just as he was about to open the door to the Great Hall, "if you could stop your infernal questioning of everything, we could have breakfast. And I'm sure we will meet the Headmaster there and he will explain everything to you."

"The Headmaster, sir?" the boy asked, frowning.

"Yes," he sighed. "We're in a school and you're hopefully about to meet the Headmaster Albus Dumbledore."

"Oh," he said, "okay."

xx

Snape rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time that day (and he still hadn't had his cup of tea) and pushed the door open. And of course they all sat there, Albus, Minerva, Poppy, waiting expectantly. Oh, he would...he grasped his wand tighter and with a scowl on his face, approached them. The boy, he noticed, always keeping up with him. Jogging beside him.

"Good morning, Severus. Good morning, Harry," said Albus, his eyes twinkling like mad.

"You!" Severus spat. "I was told to..." he calmed himself, "get the boy. I did. And the castle was empty except for Peeves who thought it was funny to attack us with Sticking Bombs."

"Ah well, we had important business to attend to."

"Important business my..." he swallowed the last word. "Mr Potter, those are the Headmaster, Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey. They will answer all your questions and since my job is now done, I hope I can continue my summer holidays. At home!"

"Severus," Minerva said sternly but he only shook his head and was about to turn when there were two hands clutching at the back of his robes. He turned his head and those eyes looked at him again. Pleading.

"Please," the boy shook his head, "Where are you going? Are you coming back soon? Please? I don't...Please?"

Severus growled. "Please what, Potter?"

"Please," he obviously fought for words, "don't leave me here alone."

xx


	5. Chapter 5

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx  
**_

Harry was overwhelmed. There were sooo many things that he had never seen, so many things that he had never believed possible, so many things that were just beyond everything he could grasp and 'fesser Snape did not answer any of his questions. Maybe because he asked too many at once. And it was okay, he would ask again, one after the other so he could answer. He was fascinated, yes, but also a little scared. This place was huge. And his clothes were comfortable, the fringe bobbing but hiding his scar and the little man called Peeves was hovering behind them as they walked towards somewhere.

And suddenly, they stood in an enormous hall, the ceiling not even there, it was open or seemed open and showed the clear, blue sky with the sun just risen. And there when he looked around, there were five tables in total. Four down in the hall and one a bit raised. And there were banners hanging around. Like flags but longer and strange looking. With animals on them. And on the fifth table, there were three people sitting.

An old man with grey hair and a long, grey beard and next to him a woman with wrinkles and dark hair, and next to her another woman with curly, blondish sort of hair who looked rather interestedly. They all looked rather interestedly at him. The old man seemed to look through his eyes and into his insides and the other woman looked so stern and forbidding.

He didn't know those people and suddenly, 'fesser Snape said three names and said he would be leaving. Harry wanted to fight it, wanted to be brave but he couldn't. He couldn't leave them with those strangers. Strangers were not good and he didn't know whether Aunt Petunia or Mrs Figg knew those people. And he didn't want to stay with them. They all stared at him. And the woman in the middle looked as if she was about to throttle him or the 'fesser and the old man still looked deeper than his eyes and it wasn't a nice feeling.

The 'fesser was about to turn and all Harry could do was clutch the back of his robes. He couldn't possibly leave him there alone. He trusted the 'fesser who had taken him away and now he was leaving him again? That couldn't happen. He couldn't let it happen.

"Please," he said quietly and pleadingly, shaking his head, "Where are you going? Are you coming back soon? Please? I don't...Please?"

'fesser Snape looked down at him with his eyebrows raised way up and he said in that nice voice of his. "Please what, Potter?"

"Please," he didn't know how to say this, how to express it, and then decided on honest, brutal truth but he had to force his voice to say the words and had to force his body to produce enough breath to get it out, "don't leave me here alone."

He looked at the 'fesser and he knew that there were a couple of tiny tears stinging at the edges of his eyes. He knew he was behaving like a baby but he didn't know how to hold them back, how to stop himself. His fists clenched in the woolly material of his Batman-cape and he didn't want him to go. Wanted to hold him back and if he actually went, he would have to drag Harry with him. He couldn't just go.

"Severus," the old man said and Harry realised that he was probably the Headmaster, 'fesser Snape had talked about. He smiled a little and there was an odd twinkle in his eyes but Harry did not feel comfortable under his searching gaze and so he hid a bit further behind 'fesser Snape. No, Harry did not really like the way the old man looked at him. Even though he did look rather friendly and almost like everyone pictured a wizard. Uncle Vernon would probably find him especially weird.

And so Harry held on tightly to 'fesser Snape's Batman-cape but he also hid behind it a little and the 'fesser let him. He had not yet made a move to walk away and that was a good thing, Harry thought.

xx

Severus stiffened. He had no other choice, really. The boy did not want him to go. The boy did not want to be left alone. The boy did not want him to leave him alone. The boy wanted to stay with him.

Up there sat three people who were considered the best, and two some of the kindest in the Wizarding World. And the Potter boy was afraid of them. It showed. It showed in the way that he clenched his fists into the material of his robes and it showed in the way he was hiding behind him. Behind him. Harry Potter was hiding behind Severus Snape.

"Severus," Albus said and he could see that he was trying to use Legilimency on the boy and maybe it was good that he hid behind him. Hid his little aching legs because he had dragged the boy through the castle and because he had scared the boy. And Albus would not like that at all.

"Have at least breakfast with us before you leave," he continued kindly. "Harry, what would you like for breakfast?"

Severus turned and looked down at the boy who still had that pleading look in his eyes. And he had to stop himself from thinking how much he would have done for Lily had she looked at him like that. This was not Lily. This was Harry _Potter_.

"Well?" he asked the boy.

"I...you won't go?"

Rolling his eyes, he disentangled the boy's hands from the back of his robes. "The Headmaster asked you a question," he added and more careful than Albus, he delved into the child's mind. Again, there were only flashes – flashes of cold porridge and mushy, soggy cereal, carefully protected from the greedy hands of his cousin, leftovers, lukewarm milk. Flashes of him wanting to have a decent breakfast like the one he had to help make. But clearest of all in the boy's mind – clearer than all the memories of breakfasts and wishes for breakfasts, there was trust for Severus. Trust and the wish to stay with him. The wish for Severus to answer all his questions. It was more visible than anything – tangible. Fear of the place he had been taken too, and fear of those people sitting up there, trusting only Snape to answer him, to take care of him.

It puzzled Severus, it confused him. The boy had only been with him for less than 24 hours. And he trusted him. He just trusted him. Merlin knew why. He was so confused, that he merely grabbed the boy's arm and pulled him with him up to the table. He wasn't sure what he should do. But probably stay until the boy trusted one of them as well. He could not forget that this was the child that had the power to vanish the Dark Lord. That his life depended on that child whenever the time came. That was the reason, the only reason. And if the boy trusted him for the time being, it was his task to make sure he trusted those he could trust. And that he could achieve rather quickly.

Would just have to sit with him for a while and explain in simple words that those three were not dangerous at all and could be trusted.

"Come along," he hissed at the boy and pulled a chair out for him – next to Poppy. Poppy was probably kindest in a situation like this.

And then tea – finally.

xx

Suddenly, out of thin air, there were plates in front of him. A plate full of breakfast. There was bacon, there were mushrooms, there were fried eggs, there was fried bread, there were sausages, tomatoes, black pudding . A huge bowl full of cereal. Toast. Stacks and stacks of toast and little pots of jam and marmalade and a pot of tea, a tall glass of milk and another glass filled with something orange.

Harry didn't know where to look first. And he wasn't sure whether it was for him at all. But the smell only, it made his stomach churn and growl and hurt.

"Eat, my boy," the old man said and the woman, 'fesser Snape had put him next to smiled at him.

"What would you like, Harry?" she asked very kindly. "I'm sure the house elves would bring you anything else you'd like."

His eyes widened. This was like – paradise. He had never seen so much food at once. Not even when Aunt Petunia had him help prepare some party. Never. And he could eat it? What he liked? Everything that stood before him?

"Mr Potter, you decide what you like and then you eat," 'fesser Snape explained and Harry looked up hopefully.

"Really?" he asked carefully.

"Yes," he replied.

"Oh," Harry felt himself smiling a little and his smile grew steadily. "Really?"

"Do I have to feed you, Mr Potter?" the 'fesser asked jokingly and Harry smiled broader, giggled even a little and shook his head. His eyes roamed over the plates and the bowls and the glasses. He had never seen the kind of stuff that was in the one glass. Orange.

"'fesser Snape, what is that?" he asked, pointing at the glass.

"That is pumpkin juice," the woman in the middle explained and Harry turned his head. She was old too. But not as old as the old man and somehow, she didn't look so stern anymore. She even smiled at him for a moment and he just had to smile back. But he was so glad that 'fesser Snape sat right there next to him and hadn't left. He wouldn't want to stay on anyone else's couch but his.

Harry was about to hesitantly spear a bit of bacon on his fork when he felt the admonishing look of 'fesser Snape on his face and Harry felt a tiny bit embarrassed. The 'fesser even had to remind him, with a look, not a slap to the fingers, that he was no baby anymore and perfectly capable of eating with knife _and_ fork. And since he was surrounded by older people, he was glad for it. Old people usually were stickler for these things and those three didn't look as if they'd accept him eating like a baby. Or a pig. And he had the feeling that the old man, if he was indeed the Headmaster, had a say in the matter of him staying there. And he wanted to stay. He wanted to sleep on 'fesser Snape's couch until he was grown up and would have a couch, or maybe a bed, of his own.

He sighed softly to himself, then, gingerly, took the glass full of pumpkin juice in his hands and sipped on it. Oh the food was wonderful and this was wonderful. Just wonderful. The best stuff he ever had in his life.

And the best morning he could ever remember having.

xx

"Well, Severus, it seems someone has taken a liking to you," Minerva smirked and did not even bother to hide it behind her teacup.

And yes, it was true. Weird though it was. The boy sat close to him, the boy looked at him every time before he tasted something, the boy smiled at him as if that was his doing.

"I'm sure Severus won't mind to watch Harry until we find a family for him," Albus added with the most annoying twinkle in his eyes.

"As a matter of fact, I do mind," he hissed and was horribly aware of the fact that the boy's eyes snapped up and – oh no. Hurt. He looked hurt. He did not want to hurt the bloody child, he just did not want to...

"He does look like Lily, doesn't he," Poppy said quietly. "He's got the same eyes. And he's very well behaved too."

There were two choices he had in that moment, Severus knew. One choice was to get up in a huff, to complain loudly that he was no babysitter and to just go back to Spinner's End for the rest of the summer and let them deal with the boy. The other choice was to take him in. If, and only if, there was no other alternative. Because the boy had indeed taken a liking to him and because he was responsible for the hurt in his eyes earlier. And now. The boy did truly want to stay with him. But 7 year old boys had no decision to make. It was his and he had wanted a quiet, peaceful summer. Full of brewing and spells and jinxes that needed to be explored.

Hurt. Oh, he remembered the feeling of not being wanted. He remembered it very, very clearly in that moment. And...

"Is there nobody else?" he asked, trying to sound bored.

"No. Except us, there is nobody at the moment. And I doubt Harry wants to stay with either one of us," Minerva explained.

"We're old," the Headmaster added.

"But the staff?"

"All gone for the summer, Severus, you know that," Poppy shook her head.

"But Sinistra? Hooch? Sprout? Flitwick? Blackwell?"

"You should really come out of your dungeons more," Minerva quipped. "Aurora left last week for her summer holidays that she'll spend with her boyfriend in France, Hooch is somewhere on the continent since three weeks ago, Pomona left at the weekend for Cornwall, Filius is with his daughter in Italy and Barnabas moved out the day before yesterday and the new Arithmancy teacher, Septima Vector will not arrive until next week."

Severus looked puzzled. "Right. Blackwell retired. I forgot about that. But it can't be that they're all on holidays."

"It's the summer, Severus," Poppy smiled.

"You wanted to stay for the whatever herb it was you wanted to pick and the wards," Minerva added.

There was a tug on his sleeve and when he looked at the boy, there were those eyes again. "Do I have to go back to Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia and Dudley?" he asked very sadly.

Severus grumbled. What could he do? "No. You don't have to go back and if there is no other way, you can stay with me until we find a suitable family for you," he said swiftly. Couldn't think about what this meant for him. Bye bye peaceful summer.

And the mayhem already started a moment later, barely a heartbeat when suddenly, the boy attacked him. From the side, his little boy's arms flung around his middle even while he was sitting and the little boy's head pressed against his chest.

"Thank you, 'fesser Snape," he said over and over again and Severus tried to breathe deeply, tried not to shake him off, tried to just let it happen for a moment.

He had surely died anyway and had gone straight to hell.

xx

Poppy waved her wand and made sure that the boy could not hear what was spoken. "Physically, he's almost fine. He's undernourished but I found nothing serious. The odd healed bruise and everything you would expect in a boy that age. It seems that his magic made sure that that cousin of his could not hit him too hard."

Snape growled. "Why do you tell me this?"

"Because you're his temporary guardian, Severus," she said sternly. "And you have to know what you're dealing with. At the moment he's fine emotionally as well. He kept telling me during the examination how comfortable your couch was and that you helped him with the clothes and the brushing of teeth and that you answered almost every question he had. Believe it or not, he likes you. I don't know why but he does. And he feels safe with you."

"Pfh."

"Don't pfh me, young man. He says he feels safe with you. You were the one who rescued him and you will take good care of him now. He doesn't want to stay with anyone else but you for the time being. He's Lily's son, Severus. I know you liked her very much. Do her that favour."

"He's Potter's son as well," he snapped.

"Yes he is. He's a child. Put yourself in his position. Imagine being 7 and hating where you grow up, I know you can. And then imagine someone is taking you away from there, giving you a place to sleep, answering questions, decent cloths. Brings you to a magical world. I know you," she poked him in his chest, "and as a 7 year old, you would have never wanted to leave this person either."

"I would have never," he tried to protest meekly but knew it was in vain. She was right.

The mediwitch raised and eyebrow. "You would have and you know it. You have the chance to give Harry the childhood you never had and to give him the childhood he never had. He gets a chance if you want to give him a chance," she said and turned away, back towards the boy but had not yet cancelled the charm. She looked over her shoulder, "He can be happy. And happy boys grow into happy, content adults. And those know what they're fighting for," she added mysteriously and a second later, cancelled the charm, leaving him there, struck dumb.

He hadn't received a talking to like this since – years before. And the matron was right. He did not like to admit it, not at all, but she was – right. He would have followed anyone who would have taken him away from that home like a little dog. Would have done everything for that person. And he would have, probably, never made the mistakes he had made in his youth had it not been for his childhood. And there had been rumours that the boy had only been able to vanish the Dark Lord because he was a more powerful Dark Wizard in the making. If that was true, an unhappy childhood could seal his fate. A childhood lived under the protection of any decent Wizard-family, anyone on the side of the Light, could, possibly, stop that.

Severus realised with a jolt that he had, now, in his hands, the fate of the entire Wizarding World.

xx

Harry skipped happily next to 'fesser Snape, more than glad that he had finally been allowed to leave that place where that Madam Pomfrey had prodded and poked him with her wand and had tutted and then spoke, silently, to the 'fesser. And then she had given him something absolutely icky to drink and it was even worse than the stuff that the 'fesser had given him before. This one had tasted like mud. Liquid mud.

The 'fesser was very strange now though. He looked kind of into the distance and then his eyes again, and then into the distance again. Harry had asked but he had only grumbled. Said nothing real and so Harry had decided that maybe it was better to be silent as well. Couldn't hurt even though he had trazillions of questions in his head buzzing. For example – why was the Peeves-man still or again, hovering behind them? And he had seemed so talkative the day before and today he was very, very quiet? And where were they going?

Oh – well, that one question was soon answered when Harry recognised the portrait of the swimming, bathing bat. They had passed it on their way from where 'fesser Snape lived to breakfast. And his stomach was still so wonderfully full from breakfast. It had been absolutely marvellous. And nobody had taken anything away from him or had rushed him. Nothing. He had been able to eat in peace.

"Well, there we are," the 'fesser said suddenly and Harry recognised his door.

"Okay, sir," Harry replied.

"Pass the time and try not to touch anything," he said strangely.

"But what will I do? Can I read? Can I borrow one of your books? Will I get mine from the place we left it yesterday? I can do some stuff for school," he asked, then his eyes fell on a door that had not been there this morning. "'fesser, look, there's a new door," he exclaimed.

"What?"

"Look," Harry pointed, then followed the 'fesser as he strode quickly towards it and flung the door open with his wand raised.

"Oh Merlin give me strength," he muttered and Harry peeked past him into the room.

It was the coolest room he had ever seen in his life.

xx


	6. Chapter 6

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**For Moewe – Happy belated Birthday!**_

_**xx  
**_

Severus Snape knew that he carried a debt. He was indebted to Albus Dumbledore. He also knew that the Headmaster did not actually think the Severus was indebted to him but Severus knew better. Albus Dumbledore had kept him out of Azkaban and had given him a job, a perspective, a new home, a second chance. Severus Snape was willing to do an awful lot to pay him back.

But this – this outrage – was too much. It wasn't so much the fact that there was a room, that could only be added if the castle wanted it to be added, but the fact how the interior of the room was done. There was a scenery on the walls – trees, flowers, a meadow, sunshine and if Snape saw correctly, a house elf hiding in tall grass. A grassy-green floor. A blue ceiling with clouds rushing by. A four poster bed with a canopy in white. It looked like he had fallen into a disgustingly happy-sunshine-meadow scenery. There were at least books and toys on shelves on the walls but the shelves (and the cupboards and the bedside cabinet) looked like tree branches and even petered out into the room. And there, in the corner was a flowerbed full of daisies. And next to it, a blue corner complete with easel and painting things.

"Oh Merlin," he grumbled hoarsely.

"'fesser Snape?" asked the boy, tugging on his sleeve again and Severus made a mental note to explain to the fiend that he heard quite well, wasn't yet in his dotage and would be able to give his attention with a simple '_Pro_fesser Snape', so that the incessant tugging on the sleeves could stop.

"What is it?" he asked, his mind still on overload what the Headmaster had done with a simple, albeit large room.

"Whose room is that?" he asked in a small voice.

"It's yours," he said grumblingly and the boy immediately shook his head.

"It's not mine, sir. I've never seen it before."

"Are you being an idiot on purpose?" he snapped and the boy looked at him with his bright green eyes again and after a moment's hesitation, merely shook his head.

"That was a figure of speech, Mr Potter," he explained sharply. "This is your room now, I suppose."

"I don't have a room, sir."

"I'll take back what I said about the figure of speech," he mumbled. "You do now," he said clearly. "You did want to stay here for the time being, did you not?"

Again, the boy nodded. "But any cupboard would do. The couch would be fantastic but I don't mind where I..." the boy could not finish his sentence. It had gone on too long now. Severus swooped down, his nose almost touching the boys and his hands, hard on the child's upper arms.

"Listen to me very closely, Mr Potter," he said with a deadly calm that he did not feel at all, and the boy nodded fearfully, "while you are staying here with me, you will not sleep in any cupboard or on the couch. The castle was right in adding a room for you but this outrageous interior decorating..."

"It's beautiful," the boy interrupted, whispering. "It feels like I'm sleeping outside without all the bugs crawling up on me."

Severus was struck dumb. Again. Beautiful? It was horrid. Or maybe – well – for a boy...Poppy Pomfrey's words echoed in his head. Over and over again.

"Well then go and explore it," he said gruffly, standing upright again.

"But it's not mine, sir," the boy protested.

"It is now," Snape was close to losing his temper. No child should be that idiotic. Maybe if he had it in writing. Yes. If he had it in writing that this was his room, he would see that this was, for the time being, his room and would finally begin to explore it so he could enjoy at least a moment's peace. He raised his wand to the open door and on the outside, as well as the inside, dark green letters appeared.

"'fesser Snape, why is my name on the door?" the boy asked and Severus groaned. Too stupid even for that?

"Because this is your room. Now be quiet and explore it," he commanded and left the wide-eyed, staring, gasping child standing there. He counted slowly in his head. This silence would not last very long and true to what he had thought, he had not even managed to reach 30 in his head when there was a rather girlish shriek and yelp from where the boy still stood in the open door and the child began to race in circles around in the room instead of quietly looking around. Of course he would run circles. And in a mere matter of minutes, the boy would come running and asking questions again.

But...

The boy was seven. 7. Poppy had made a point. A very legitimate point at that. He would have probably acted the same way. If someone had...

Rubbish. It made no sense to think about this, he knew. He now had the task to find a family, to make sure the boy grew up in a safe, happy environment and to ensure that he was properly instructed once the time came for his fight against the Dark Lord. And thinking about his own childhood would not help at all.

And so – instead – he summoned a parchment, a quill and ink and sat down on the table and just as he was about to write the first name down on the parchment, there was a knock on the door.

xx

This was the most beautiful room in the entire world. It was double the size of Dudley's two rooms and it almost looked as if he was outside on a beautiful meadow. It was fantastic. Truly, wonderfully fantastic. Awesome. Cool. He couldn't help the tiny little shout of joy that escaped him and he only, for the moment, could only run around in this wonderful beautiful room. It was his!

His name was on the door! On both sides! 'fesser Snape had made sure that he understood that this was his room and made it real that this was his room and had put his name there. In a lovely, lovely green colour. Harry Potter. On both sides of the door. It was only a blur since he did run around in circles in his new room which was beautiful but he always made sure to look at it for half a second before his eyes fell on something else. If Dudley could see it, he'd be green with envy. Greener than the floor and greener than the letters 'fesser Snape had spelled his name in.

Oh, he couldn't stop running around. He couldn't believe his luck. He had his very first, own room. And his own bed. And books. There were so many books! And something to paint with and toys and books and a bed and a wonderful lovely room.

Harry Potter – for the first time since he had flown his baby-broom approximately 6 years ago, felt utterly ecstatic.

Severus groaned but put the quill down and opened the door to a smirking, evil Gryffindor.

"Well, Severus?" Minerva asked. "Albus asked me to come down and see if he was in mortal danger."

He huffed but let the older woman in. "He might be."

"Ah well," Minerva chuckled. "He thought so when he told the house elves specifically what to do and even made a sketch for them."

"Did you see it? It's so..."

"Not dark?" she offered, grinning. "I may have seen it, yes. He's a boy though. But...what is he doing?" she asked, peeking through the open door into the room. "And Albus has seriously overdone the floor. Green? And so grass-like. You can be glad that I kept him from turning this room red and gold. Seriously, what is he doing?"

"He's running around in circles," he replied off-handedly. "And has been for the past ten minutes."

"Why?" she asked suspiciously.

"I assume because he is happy that he has a room of his own. A bed of his own. And does not have to sleep in a cupboard," he replied coldly.

"C-c-cupboard?"

"Ah yes, I forgot," Severus sneered, "you were all gone yesterday so I had no chance of telling you under what circumstances the boy-who-lived lived."

"Cupboard, Severus?"

"Cupboard, Minerva. He was kept in the cupboard under the stairs. All his belongings fit into his book bag which might, as far as I know, still be up in your husband's office. Didn't you see his face at breakfast? He's had the first decent meal in I don't know how long and now he's ecstatic and running around because he has the world's-most-outrageous-room." He felt his temper rising.

And Minerva's was – well – too. "I told him. I told him so often that nothing good would come of this. Told him those people were no good. But would he listen? Merlin no."

"You're his wife," Severus sneered, "You ought to be able to have a modicum of control over him."

"Don't you start on me now, Severus Snape., You know what Albus is like when he thinks he knows best," she huffed, her gaze wandering back into the new room, "Why is he still running like that?"

"He still assume he is happy."

"Sorry, you were explaining the circumstances under which he lived," she said contritely.

"Yes, I was," he smirked.

Minerva waited but Severus liked riling her up. And it was so simple with her quick Gryffindor temper. He did not say anything and she grew steadily impatiently, tapping her foot on the floor. "Well?" she asked finally.

Severus sighed dramatically, "There's not much to tell. They let him sleep in a cupboard, he was barely accepted there. His cousin loved using him as a punching bag and of course Petunia Evans is..."

"Poor Harry. Can't you tell him to stop running?" she said, "it's irritating."

"You try it," he smirked.

"Mr Potter!" she bellowed and the boy stood suddenly very still, staring at them.

"Stop that infernal running, Mr Potter and explore the room like a well-behaved young man," he added sternly but the boy did not listen at all. Instead, he bounced towards them and observed Minerva and him quizzically.

"Why do you call me Mr Potter?" he asked, "I'm Harry."

"Your name is Harry Potter, is it not? Severus asked mockingly and of course, immediately, felt Minerva's elbow connect with his ribs and her glare on him.

"If you like you can call me Minerva," she said gently to the boy and once more, her elbow, or what felt like her elbow, connected with his ribs.

The boy grinned broadly and nodded. "Can you call me Harry then?"

"Yes, I will, Harry," Minerva chuckled. "Do you like your new room, Harry?"

"It's awesome!"

Minerva laughed for a moment before she directed her glare at Snape again. "Severus," she hissed.

"What?"

She glared at him, then nudged her head towards the boy who still stood there but Snape said nothing. He certainly would not let the boy call him Severus.

xx

Minerva seemed nice. She didn't look so stern as she had in the morning but he really wanted only one thing. Grab the 'fesser's hand and ask him about all the books in his room. And ask him which he should read first. And...

"'fesser Snape, where did the room come from? Who put it there? It wasn't here this morning. And where did the books come from? Which should I read first? Can you tell me please? Minerva, did you see how beautiful my new room is? And 'fesser Snape made sure that it is my room and put the letters on the door. Did you see them? I like that green. I love the room," he sighed contentedly and when his eyes fell on the two grown-ups again, he didn't quite understand why Minerva was grinning and the 'fesser looked so grumpy.

"'fesser, will you show me what book to read first, please?" he decided on the direct approach and reached out to take his hand and pulled him up. Harry knew that he was not the strongest boy in the world but surprisingly, the 'fesser followed him immediately and the woman was right behind them.

"Harry?" she asked gently and he turned around with a smile, first at the still grumpy looking 'fesser Snape, then at her.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"You are aware, 'fesser Snape did tell you that you are a wizard yourself," she asked and Harry stopped immediately.

A wizard? Himself. No that couldn't be. 'fesser Snape was a wizard. And that Madam Pomfrey had been a witch and maybe this Minerva was a witch too and the Headmaster, but he certainly wasn't.

'Nu-uh," he said muffled and he didn't quite catch what 'fesser Snape said to Minerva but it sounded rather angry. He looked up at them and said, "I'm not wizard. I'm just Harry."

"Thank you, Deputy Headmistress," said 'fesser Snape angrily.

Harry was seized by cold panic. If they thought that he was a wizard and he wasn't – he would be sent back. Immediately. And he didn't want to leave this beautiful awesome room. Not at all. Never in his life. It was just perfect, right next to 'fesser Snape's bedroom and close to the bathroom and it was just soooo beautiful. And now, if they realised that he wasn't a wizard...

"Don't send me back again, please," he whispered urgently. "I can clean or cook or anything, please." He still held on tightly to 'fesser Snape's hand even though he had the feeling he already wanted to shake him off and he could see very clearly that that Minerva glared at him and pushed her elbow into his side. 'fesser Snape even groaned and Harry thought that now they had realised their mistake and that the woman had made it clear to 'fesser Snape that it was his job to throw him out.

"Mr Potter," he began and Harry could not help it.

"Harry," he muttered sadly.

Another groan came from 'fesser Snape. "Harry," he swooped down again until their noses were almost touching again like before but now, the 'fesser still held his hand, "you can read, can you not?"

Harry nodded slowly.

"Then read, please, what is written on this door."

"Harry Potter, sir," he read meekly, "but I'm no..."

"And why, if people and elves, go to such length creating this room for you, should we send you away again?"

"Because I'm no wizard, sir."

"Harry, you are a wizard," Minerva said gently but 'fesser Snape pushed her back and actually knelt on the floor to look into his eyes.

"Have you or have you not appeared on the roof of the school without knowing how you got there?" he asked very calmly and very gently. At least it sounded like this to Harry and he nodded.

"Have you or have you not made a book fly towards your cousin?"

Again, he nodded.

"Does you brain understand that this might not be coincidental?"

He shook his head, didn't quite understand the question.

"Harry Potter, you're a wizard," Minerva said again and 'fesser Snape turned around, glaring.

"Minerva," he said and his voice changed immediately. It sounded still calm but deadly calm. Not nicely calm.

"Have you or have you not wondered why your bag was so light when I brought you here?"

"I have," Harry whispered.

"Have you considered that this might be magic?" he asked, and lay heavy emphasis on the last word.

"Uncle Vernon always said..." Harry tried to say but was silenced by 'fesser Snape's outraged groan.

"Harry," Minerva tried again and actually managed to kneel on the floor next to 'fesser Snape, "you did magic all this time. But when children do it, it is usually accidental..."

"Minerva," 'fesser Snape hissed again.

"You go ahead then," she said tightly.

"Mr Potter..."

"Harry."

"Harry, you cannot yet control your magic. But just trust my word that you are a wizard," 'fesser Snape said softly.

Harry's head was whirring. He was a wizard? Like them? And that was why he had done all those inexplicable things. He was no freak, he wasn't weird, he was a wizard. Oh he would make sure Dudley got a pig's snout when he could control his magic. Or maybe a little pig's tail. Or the colour of a pig. Or something else. He would think about it. And then when he could do it like those two, he would go back and do it. His face broke out in a wide grin.

"Really?"

"Do we have to start that again?" 'fesser Snape asked with a nice roll of his eyes and Harry understood that he was only joking and shook his head immediately and because the 'fesser had not protested before and because Harry had seen this happening, he pulled together all the courage he felt and since the 'fesser was already kneeling and still held his hand, he only rushed forward and wrapped his arms around 'fesser Snape's neck, hugging him.

xx

He heard Minerva chuckle faintly as the boy kept his ears closed by his tiny arms and this strangling that seemed to be a speciality of his. He saw from the corner of his eye that the Deputy Headmistress was getting up and moving away but he couldn't follow her with his eyes since the boy still held on tightly to him.

"Yes, it's fine, Mr Potter," he said, keeping his arms as far in the air as possible.

"Harry," he whispered quietly.

Impudence. Interrupting him every time. Oh but he would get his revenge on the boy. Oh most certainly. Hadn't he wanted to know which book to read first? He would find one.

"Yes, fine. I believe you asked me what book to read first?" he asked dangerously low and it worked, the boy disentangled himself from his neck immediately and nodded enthusiastically. That enthusiasm would soon go, Snape knew as he stepped into the room (and the floor even felt like grass underneath the soles of his shoes) and browsed through the amounts of books that Albus had put there. Too much for a child.

But yes, the Headmaster did not disappoint and Severus pulled out a volume. Slim, yes, but it would keep the boy occupied.

"Here," he said and shoved the book into the boy's hands. Severus wished though that he had not looked into the child's face. He stared in wonder, in absolute gratitude and happiness at the one simple book, reached out with his finger and traced the lettering on the front as he read aloud.

"A Guide to Potions."

xx


	7. Chapter 7

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx  
**_

Silence. Blissful silence. And all it had taken was one book. One small, tiny book and there was silence. He thought. Maybe too silent.

It wasn't good either. Seriously, who could expect him to do any kind of work while the boy was shouting and running in his room? And he could not even go to his office because the boy would wreck his rooms if he did But when there was silence, Severus found that just as disturbing. No, really, he had, to some extent, understood the boy's happiness. Quite. But now this silence? It was unnerving.

Couldn't do work when it was too quiet and the boy was planning Merlin-knew-what either. So, Severus stalked as quietly as he could towards the open door of the boy's new room (no chance in hell he would allow him to close that door. Heaven only knew what he could do in there) and stood, mesmerised, observing.

The boy actually sat on the ground, leaning against a shelf that also looked like a tree and with a furrowed brow, he read. He read_ A Guide to Potions_. Slowly, sometimes using his finger, but he read. Concentrated.

That, he had not expected. He had expected him to have thrown the book away, maybe grabbed another one, or jumping on the bed under a silencing spell. Or maybe – anything but this.

Suddenly, the boy sighed softly and very, very slowly, looked up, his finger in the book and another pushing up the glasses on his nose. He smiled when he noticed Snape standing there and took a deep breath as his smile grew wider.

"I like that book, 'fesser Snape," he said quietly and Severus was, to be honest, quite taken back by this. He wasn't meant to like it. Potter had never liked potions. Lily yes, Potter no. And this was difficult. Meant for children a few years older, not 7 year old boys. He was about to return to the desk, albeit defeated slightly, when the boy jumped up, the book in his hand.

"But, sir, I don't understand this. It says that potions can only be done by wizards and that if Muggles do it, they won't get results. What are Muggles, 'fesser Snape?"

Severus's eyebrows raised to unknown heights. "Excuse me?"

"Well, what are Muggles and why don't they get the same results if they use the same ingredients and why is it necessary to harvest herbs and other ingredients at precisely the right time. So what are Muggles? And why is that necessary?"

Severus was shocked. He had not expected this. He knew he had lost his cool façade. He knew he looked utterly startled and the boy saw it. He had read parts of the book, the introduction, really, very thoroughly. Had paid attention. And Severus had not expected this. Not at all.

"'fesser Snape?" the boy asked with that infernal lisp, standing in front of him.

"What?" he asked, loudly, snapping out of his surprise.

"What is a Muggle?" asked the boy, gently and slowly, and he was looking up with those eyes again and Severus felt himself transported back. Years and years back when the same looking eyes had worn the same expression of unbridled curiosity. It was unnerving but also, somewhere in the back of his mind, it registered that it was – something beautiful. Quietly, his mind reminded him that here and now, he had a part of Lily. And that small portion of his brain burned like fire, burned a path to the front, to the back of his eyes so he could see her sitting on swings, talking, laughing, smiling, when he closed his eyes. And when he opened them, he saw the same eyes, there, asking, asking him. Trusting him. Wanting to stay with him.

He shook himself internally, trying to push back that rather shocking revelation that he had, here, with him, a piece, a part of Lily, and, clearing his throat, he put on his neutral mask. "A Muggle is what wizards call people who cannot do magic."

"Like Aunt Petunia? Or is she a witch? And Uncle Vernon? But he said magic is..."

"They are Muggles. Precisely so," answered Snape, trying to maintain his cool. The boy was quick. And interested. And made connections. Not that he had expected anything else – he was already 7 after all. He should understand that.

"But why can I do magic then and they can't?"

Severus swallowed around the lump in his throat, "Your mother and father were witch and wizard."

The child nodded solemnly, not overly sad, just accepting of the fact. "Did you know them? And why can't Muggles make potions? And what about that time to harvest them?"

Severus sighed. He had obviously hexed his own foot by giving him the book. Question after question after question. But if he was smart, and he usually prided himself on his own intelligence and smartness, he could, probably avoid being asked too much about Lily. And Potter.

"Muggles can't brew potions – not make potions – because they are Muggles and as such do not have the magic to create them."

"But..." the child hesitated, "the book said, I think, that you don't need wands for potions."

"Indeed you do not," he explained, falling, subconsciously, into his teacher mode.

"But that means I can do magic without a wand, too?"

Severus's eyebrows arched again. Those were questions that were more clever than any first year, or most 5th year usually asked. "Potter, you did appear on a rooftop, did you not? You did grow your hair back and you did make your bag lighter, did you not?"

He nodded shyly.

"Do you have a wand?" he asked arrogantly.

Surprisingly, however the little fiend began to giggle. "No," he spluttered between those fits of giggles and it made Severus extremely uncomfortable. Why was he giggling? There was absolutely no reason for it. He had only stated facts. There was no need for giggling.

"Potter, stop that," he bellowed and the child was silent – immediately. "Explain?"

"Well, it's just that I thought earlier that I can't do real magic yet because I don't have a wand but I really want to because then I could maybe put a pig's snout or a pig's tail on Dudley but if I have the magic in me, if I am a wizard, I can brew a potion that will make him grow one and that was funny."

Maybe, Severus thought, his eyebrows had vanished right into his hairline at that stage. Or maybe he had underestimated that child. Or maybe...he didn't know. He was extremely surprised. More than that. Shocked, really. And to show such Slytherin traits. He had underestimated him. Clearly. And he had no idea what to answer the boy. Absolutely none.

For the first time in his career, Snape had trouble answering something a child had said but of course he needn't have worried. The boy was, after all, the question-machine.

"So can I?"

"So can you what?" he asked, slightly unnerved.

"Make...erm, brew a potion. That will make..."

"No, Mr Potter, you cannot," he interrupted. Even though, well, the idea per se wasn't that bad. And the child, a mere seven years old, already held such grudges that he would consider...

He felt the strong urge to sit down. Sit down, down a glass of Odgen's Finest, or Odgen's Anything, when another little thought burned its way to the front of his head.

He would not have acted differently. Well, he would have probably bounced less because that was just undignified, but in Potter's position, when he had been seven, he would have asked the same, the very same questions. Would have, in all likelihood, wanted to brew a potion that would have similar effects on certain other people. He would not have hesitated either.

Severus slowly staggered back, out of the room and the boy was, of course, following him and if Severus had looked closely, he would have seen worry in the boy's eyes as well now. He sat down heavily on one of the plush armchairs and stared at the child. He knew it was wrong, and potentially dangerous to look into his mind again, so repeatedly and after Albus had done it during breakfast but there was nothing he could do about it.

The child was seeing him absolutely struck. Almost weak in that moment that he had to admit to himself that he and the boy were quite, quite alike. In their situations, not in their behaviour. He would have behaved, naturally – oh sod it – he wouldn't have bounced any less or would have run any smaller circles if someone had pulled him out of that dreadful home and into this world. If someone had given him a room like that. If someone had given him, at that age, that kind of book to read and if someone had willingly answered all his questions. And not in hushed tones but clear and concise and definite.

But in the child's mind was first and foremost worry. Worry for – him. No that couldn't be. Definitely not. And a bit deeper – questions, question after question after question. No wonder the boy was bubbling over. He was inquisitive. Wanted to know. And again, that worry. Why was he not feeling well and why was he so pale and...

He withdrew quickly from the child's mind and summoned a glass of water. The child could not stay with him. It was irresponsible and idiotic to leave a child like this, a child like he had been, in his care.

xx

The poor 'fesser was completely pale and looked utterly shocked. Harry didn't understand why and he tried to speak to him but the 'fesser only had a glass of water flying through the air and he said absolutely nothing. He only gulped down the water and drew a couple of deep breaths before he stood up shakily.

He had never seen him like that. And only because he had asked a few questions? That couldn't be. Suddenly, the 'fesser turned around, facing his desk and furiously scribbled down something that the then rolled up in a nice, tight roll.

"'fesser Snape?" he asked carefully.

"Come along, Mr Potter," he replied and his voice wasn't as steady and as silky and as nice as it had been before but was raw and weird.

"Where are we going?"

"Out," he replied coldly but Harry couldn't go like this. He shook his head to himself and before the 'fesser could turn away, he had grasped his hand.

"Are you sending me away now? I want to stay with you, really. And I promise I won't ask too many questions and..." he had to swallow. The 'fesser had been shocked because of him and he didn't want that. He wanted the 'fesser to like him. Really like him because the 'fesser was the first person who had been truly nice to him and had been truly gentle and everything. And he was the one who had taken him away. And going 'out' was no reply. He looked at his black eyes and tried to explain, with his eyes only, that he did not want to leave. That he wanted to have his questions answered or at least read a little more in the book. Harry's only thought was that he wanted to stay with the 'fesser, that the 'fesser was a cool, awesome person and just the way Harry had always pictured his rescuer.

'fesser Snape stared back into his eyes and he suddenly looked a little pink around the cheeks and ears and stopped trying to push Harry's hand away which he had done since he had grasped it.

"You do want to stay with me?"

Harry nodded quietly.

"Why?"

"Because you are nice and because you are kind and because you are strong and because you answer all my questions," he replied honestly and without hesitation.

'fesser Snape seemed to shake himself sort of and then looked briefly away. "We're going to dinner now," he said and his voice was almost back to the silky lovely tone. "I have things to discuss with the Headmaster."

Harry nodded and without letting go of 'fesser Snape's hand, he followed him out of their rooms, the book he had read safely on the 'fesser's desk. But – as soon as Harry and 'fesser Snape left the rooms, there was the tiny hovering man behind them again and Harry pulled together all his courage.

He hated being followed. You never knew when someone pounced on you when they walked behind you and it was always better, he had figured out a while back, when you just faced the people and talked to them. Well, either that, or ran. But he couldn't run. Not when he still held 'fesser Snape's hand and not in this place. He would get lost after a moment for sure. And so, he took a deep breath, disentangled his hand from the man's and swiftly turned around.

"Hello, I'm Harry," he told the hovering, little man, "what's your name?" Harry wasn't daft. He knew he was called Peeves – he had paid attention after all but he couldn't jolly well ask what he was doing following them.

"Mr Potter, do not talk to..."

"Can't you call me Harry?" Harry asked exasperatedly, his eyes still fixed on the little man hovering.

"Fine," the 'fesser huffed, "do not talk to..."

"My name's Peeves, Hairy Harry Wee Potter. Peeves hasn't expected you to come to Hoggy Warts so soon," the little man said in a rather oily voice.

"Why did you expect me at all?" Harry asked, ignoring 'fesser Snape who had a grip on his shoulder and tried to pull him away. No, actually, he did pull him away but Peeves was following them and Harry simply walked backwards.

"Because Hairy Harry Wee Potter is the chosen one, they say," he cackled, the oily voice gone.

"What chosen one? I'm really only Harry. You don't need to say Hairy Harry Wee Potter," he explained.

"Snarky Snakey Snapey hasn't told Pottigy Prodigy from the..."

"Peeves," 'fesser Snape bellowed, "Go away and stop following him.

"Yeah, why are you following me?" Harry asked, frowning. "And what is the chosen one? And what hasn't 'fesser Snape told me?"

"Snarky Snakey Snapey hasn't told him anything, I see," he said in a sort of sing-sang voice. "Should Peeves do it?"

"I'll get the Bloody Baron," 'fesser Snape threatened.

"Why would you get the Bloody Baron? Who is the Bloody Baron anyway?" Harry asked, then looked questioningly at Peeves again, waited and when he didn't get an answer from either of them, he rolled his eyes. "What are you, Peeves? Are you man that can fly? You will not throw anything at us today, will you? I liked the bubble that 'fesser Snape made but it sort of smelled what you threw at us."

Peeves, the little man, bowed his head a little, and frowned as well, all the while 'fesser Snape still dragged him along. "I'm a Poltergeist, Hairy Harry."

"I'm not hairy."

"Don't encourage him," 'fesser Snape hissed.

"What is a Poltergeist anyway?"

Peeves then looked even more startled and before he could answer, he had vanished into thin air and Harry turned around, walking on his own and forwards. "What is a Poltergeist? And how did he do that?"

"Ask Minerva all those questions," 'fesser Snape grumbled and pushed the door open that they had walked in that morning for breakfast.

xx


	8. Chapter 8

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx  
**_

The chair was hovering a little over the ground and when Harry leaned to his left, to where Minerva sat, the chair tilted a bit to the left and when Harry leaned a bit to his right, where 'fesser Snape sat, the chair tilted a little to the right. If it hadn't been for the two stern glances he had received from both Minerva and the 'fesser, he would have tried how far the chair would go and would have made a game of it. But as it was, he knew he had no chance but to behave. And as soon as the food arrived, he had other things on his mind. It had been so much. And he had been allowed to take as much as he wanted! Of everything. And of course while he was eating, he didn't lean to either side. He knew it was wrong here, and he knew there was no Dudley around and they had let him eat breakfast in peace but he couldn't help eating rather quickly. Minerva, and he had already gotten used to calling her Minerva, had already mildly scolded him for it but he really really really couldn't help it. He was so used to Dudley always ogling his plate with greed in his eyes as well and when you weren't quick enough or didn't pay attention for a single moment, Dudley had grabbed some stuff from your plate.

Now, realistically, he knew that this wouldn't happen here. Even Dudley would eventually begin to groan and moan and lie down flat on the floor because he had eaten too much because the table he sat at was really stuffed with food but somehow, somehow it felt strange to him to be able to eat as much and as slowly as he wanted to. On the contrary, people were scolding him for eating too little and too quickly (well, that Madam Pomfrey for the too little and Minerva for the too quickly) and that alone felt utterly strange.

But so many things around there felt strange to him and from time to time, he still pinched his own thigh or arm or whatever was close because he believed it was all a dream. Nothing as wonderful could happen in his life. His life wasn't that bad, it was just – well, people did not like him. Here, people did. 'fesser Snape, that Headmaster-person, Minerva, Madam Pomfrey. They all, he felt, liked him. They all smiled when they saw him and they all talked to him. Talked to him as if he was a real person and not some – – – freak. It almost felt as if they wanted him there. Even if especially 'fesser Snape did not say it out loud. But then again, Harry wondered, his eyes on the most beautiful rhubarb crumble he had ever seen, whether this could be real. And if it was real, whether he hadn't been a whiny little baby earlier when he had begged 'fesser Snape to stay with him. He wanted to. He truly, utterly wanted to.

If he thought about it, he couldn't truly tell why he trusted that man so much. Why he wanted to stay with him and why he thought that 'fesser Snape should be well and okay and not pale and weird and everything. After all, he hardly knew the man. But there was something in his eyes and something in his grumpy, sometimes mean manner that he truly liked. He would protect Harry. He would protect him from Dudley and Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon and from strange, hovering, little men. Even from owls that came swooping down and were sitting there, on the table in front of that Headmaster. 'fesser Snape, when that had happened, had immediately shifted a little closer. And there was just something about him that Harry liked. End of story.

The little hovering man called Peeves though – that one was strange. Minerva had explained what a Poltergeist was but Harry had not really understood what manifestation or manifestatation or something like that meant and he had made a mental note to ask the 'fesser after all. Maybe he would be okay after that meal even though he only picked at his food as well – and most of the time, he talked to the Headmaster but Harry never even heard a single word. Maybe that was another Wizard-thing. That they could talk without actually having to talk. He would have to ask. Or maybe ask Peeves again. Couldn't hurt since he had so many questions for 'fesser Snape because most of the answers he got from Minerva, he did not truly understand. And he could tell that the 'fesser didn't like too many questions at once either. Uncle Vernon had always grown very pink in the face when he had asked too many. But luckily, 'fesser Snape was no Uncle Vernon and Harry had not even received a clip on the ears yet – despite the questions!

He pushed a bit of the most beautiful rhubarb crumble he had ever seen into his mouth and realised that it was the most delicious rhubarb crumble in the world too. This could not possibly be real. And if it was, he never ever wanted to leave this place.

xx

"Here," Severus hissed and while he pushed the roll of parchment in Albus's hand he waved his wand to make sure that the little fiend could not hear what they were talking about.

"What is that?"

"It is a list of families I have made earlier that seem to be suitable for Mr Potter," he explained coldly.

"He seems to be happy with you."

"But I'm not happy with him! And stop that twinkling of your eyes, it is annoying," he spat. "I cannot possibly keep him."

"Why not?"

"Because I can't!"

"Severus, I've known you for many years and as of now, I've never known you to make a decision, not a single one without having a, if not multiple reasons for making that decision and I'd like to know the reason, or reasons, as the matter may be, in this case," he explained gently in that grandfatherly tone of his and his eyes did not stop twinkling.

"Then this is the first time," Severus hissed. "I don't want to live with the child."

"The castle added this room, my boy. I only furnished it."

"Furnished it," he repeated annoyed. "I don't care if the castle added the room or if the ghosts did it. I cannot take care of that child."

"Of that child?"

"Any child!"

Albus said nothing to this, merely unrolled the parchment he had shoved into the older man's hands earlier and studied it with interest before he partially disillusioned it and conjured a quill that was disillusioned after a moment as well.

"I take it those are the families you think suitable to raise Harry?"

"Yes," Severus nodded stiffly.

The Headmaster scanned the list and tutted and fussed, scratched things out wrote things on it but due to the disillusionment, Severus was unable to see anything and huffed quietly to himself.

"There. That is acceptable," Albus said gently and cancelled the spells and handed Severus the parchment back.

Every single name he had written on it had been crossed out and reasons written behind the names.

Abbott limited means

Bones non-academic household. No room for H.

Bullstrode Sympathiser to V. Left UK.

Diggory V focused on their only child.

Liebig moved to France

Longbottom A. is busy enough with N. But might take H. on to teach.

Parkinson Death Eater. Do not try to be funny.

Peterson G. did not get on with L. and J.

Warrington Pureblood-maniac. Do try not to be funny.

Weasley Have 7 children.

Severus glared at the Headmaster. "Very funny," he hissed. "Do you have another idea?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," Albus grinned and with a finger, dragged the parchment closer to him again and scribbled a name. Severus suspected with dread what would be on it – and as he pulled it back and groaned.

Snape

"Funny," he hissed. "I can't take care of him."

"You can. And you will," the Headmaster argued. "And if you won't, I'll take him to the Malfoys."

"That is blackmail."

"Yes," Albus smiled and turned his full attention back to his pudding as Severus fumed next to him. Did it really come down to him or the Malfoys? Or back to Petunia Evans? It couldn't be. Well then, the solution was clear. There was only one to be drawn.

He would indeed let the boy sleep in his quarters, but at the same time, he would do more research on families and while he was doing it, would make sure that the boy did not _want_ to stay with him anymore. Besides, he could always bring him to Minerva or Poppy if all else failed. Yes. That was the best way. And it was the simplest. He just had to be his obnoxious, people-hating self. And that was simple.

Severus smirked. So, he had liked reading the book. Well, then he would have to put that all to practice. Yes, yes, he was aware that this would mean questions after questions again, but at least those were about a subject he knew the answer to, and would probably keep them about parents and evil aunts and everything else at bay.

"Come along, Mr..." he began, then thought better of it, "Come along, Harry."

The boy lit up like a wand that had been lumosed and beamed at him.

"No need to be so cheery," he smirked still. "You have an hour before bedtime," ah yes. Strict bedtimes. Strict rules and the boy would be begging to be taken away after a few days.

"An hour?" the boy asked incredulously. "Really? That long? Cool. Can you explain the potions-thingy again then before, 'fesser Snape? Please? Or can I read in bed? Can I?"

He ignored Albus's smirk, he ignored Minerva's catlike grin, he ignored Poppy's gentle laughing and dragged the boy along with him.

xx

Oh, this was marvellous. He had an entire hour before he had to be in bed. An entire hour! With the 'fesser. He had thought that the 'fesser would probably send him straight to the room and straight to bed, which would have been awesome too because he really loved that room but talking to 'fesser Snape was even better. Really! An entire hour. He sighed in bliss. And the 'fesser even held his hand so he didn't get lost in those corridors with those nooks and crannies everywhere. He pulled a bit, but then he was tall and had long legs and walked fast and Harry was small and had short legs and couldn't walk quite so fast but at least he didn't have to run to keep up.

But then, suddenly, a thought it him when they passed the portrait of a horse with a grumpy looking woman next to it and a fat man sitting on the poor horse. There was no real resemblance and the fat man even smiled at him and bowed his head but somehow, this picture reminded him of his aunt and uncle. They had just let him go. Well, Uncle Vernon had not been at home but Aunt Petunia had almost seemed happy to be rid of him. And even though he truly had wanted to leave this place and come to a magical castle like this, he felt a stab inside himself. A stab that hurt. Horribly.

"'fesser Snape?" he asked in a little voice.

"What?" he asked, noticing that Harry had slowed down.

Well, he wasn't sure 'what?' since there was only one question burning in his brain. A question that seemed clear as day inside his head but that was difficult to find the words to ask it for. 'fesser Snape though was nice and stopped walking and looked at him. "What is it?"

"Erm," Harry replied, knowing what he wanted to know but not knowing how to ask. Maybe the simplest way was the best way. He swallowed and took a deep breath. "Whydintmyauntlikeme?" he asked quickly.

"Excuse me?" 'fesser Snape asked and bent down a little.

"Whydintmyauntlikeme?"

"Speak clearly," he shook his head. "Stop mumbling and stop stringing the words together. Diction, Mr Po...Harry."

"Why didn't they like me?" he asked, his face towards the ground. It was a silly question. And it sounded all wrong. It wasn't quite what he wanted to know. He wanted to know why Aunt Petunia wasn't sorry at all that he left, why she was happy he was gone and why it had to be him. Why his parents had to leave her with Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon and Dudley and not with someone else.

'fesser Snape though, sighed and cast a long look at him, Harry felt it burning the top of his head and he felt compelled to at least look at the man. "Your aunt knew you are a wizard," he said sharply. "And your aunt likes things just so and you being a wizard means that things around you are not just so."

"Huh?"

"Abnormal, in her eyes, pay attention," he snapped. "Since she can't do magic, she abhors it."

"But..." he hesitated

"What?"

"Butitsnotmyfault," he mumbled again.

"Diction," 'fesser Snape said clearly.

"But it's not my fault that I'm a wizard, sir," he replied, looking into the man's eyes again.

The 'fesser sighed again. "No, it is not. However, since you did not fit into her standard, boring life, she did not particularly..."

"Like me," he finished the sentence. "So she would have liked me if I'd've been no wizard?"

"Possibly," the 'fesser said but Harry could hear from his voice that he doubted it himself.

"'sunfair," he mumbled.

"Well, you will find," 'fesser Snape said gently and he slowly began to walk again, Harry following, "that life very rarely is fair."

Harry walked slowly, pondering his words. He sighed and it was not the blissful one he had made a moment before. "She never told me that she knew I was a wizard."

Suddenly, the 'fesser spun around and stared, his eyes suddenly quite cold, down at him. "Your aunt is a vile woman who should not be let loose on any children or any other human beings for that matter. She told you nothing but lies. Your mother and father did not die in a car crash. As if someone as brilliant as Lily would let that happen or if someone like Potter was even able to drive a car."

Harry stood, his eyes wide. He had never yet seen the 'fesser so...angry. Emotional. And then the words registered in his mind. Lily was his mother. Potter was his father. Obviously. "D-did you know my mum and dad?" he asked carefully but by the time he had finished his question, the 'fesser had already yanked his hand away and was walking away so briskly that he had to jog again to keep up – knowing that it was better not to ask a question at the moment.

xx

Minerva stood behind her husband, her hands on his shoulders, fingers pressing against tense muscles. "And you really think it is a good idea?" she asked gently.

"I have no other. And Severus will be the best possible option we have. Can you see Harry Potter growing up amongst the Weasleys?"

Minerva frowned, "Yes, why?"

"As an eighth child? He needs care. He's already coming from a home that was less than ideal."

"Which I told you."

"Don't, Minerva," he pushed her hands away and stood up quickly. "What choice did I have? Bring him here right from the start? Where everyone would have pointed with a finger at him? Where everyone will have pampered him? I couldn't do that. He needs time to grow, time to be older before he knows that he's famous and Merlin, almost worshipped. And the same thing would have happened in any other wizarding family, including the Weasleys. The only person that I can think of you will not let that happen, who will not worship Harry is..."

"Severus," she interrupted. "Hm. Yes. Maybe. I don't doubt he'd be a good guardian, Albus. I don't doubt that at all. What I doubt is, no, what I worry about is Severus. Did you see Potter's eyes? I know you told me not to say anything, to forget the matter but I can't. This child is not only a constant reminder of his own rotten childhood and the fact that nobody came to get him out of that hole Eileen lived in with that...bastard, but also that he's the child Lily had with Potter."

"I know," Albus replied slowly. "Let's just hope that he doesn't see it that way but rather that he begins to realise that with Harry, he has a reminder, a living reminder of Lily. Her last legacy and that he is well worth protecting – and not only because he is the one that might be able to finish Voldemort."

"Yes," Minerva sighed, "let's."

xx

His temper had gotten the better of him. Again. And he had spilled things he had no intention of spilling. And the boy? The boy trotted, jogged by his side. Quiet, just accepting that he was not answering his question. And how could he? The boy would not understand. Lily's son. He shook his head to himself.

If Lily could see him now, if she was in fact seeing him now from wherever she was – she would hate him even more. For treating her son like that, for being unfair, for being rude. She would, if she wasn't watching, spin in her grave at top speed. And no, he could not do that. He could not be the reason why Lily was spinning in her grave. He could not be the reason that she tutted, the way she always did when she disapproved of something wherever she was. He needed to get the boy to dislike him, and to want to go on his own without making her, wherever she was, angry.

He undid the wards, let the boy step into his rooms and took a deep breath. It confused him. All of this confused him and Severus Snape hated, hated to be confused.

"Go get the book and I will answer your questions," he said, choking almost, on his own words and when those eyes, again, those eyes, looked up at him, he felt his throat tighten and he whispered, in a voice that was not his own, "Your parents and I went to school together."

xx


	9. Chapter 9

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**xx  
**_

The first night in his first own bed. Well, he had had a mattress with Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon but this was an entire – huge – bed! The bedding was so soft and warm and the pillow just right for him to cuddle in. Oddly enough, there was also a teddy bear in the bed – which wasn't really a teddy _bear_ but a teddy creature. It was round and had almost the colour of custard and made a purring noise when Harry had poked it. And a moment later, the stuffed animal-thingy's tongue had shot out and Harry had jumped a little. Just a little when he had noticed and in the huge bed, had scrambled away a little from the furbally round creature. He was too old for a cuddly toy anyway.

'fesser Snape had not noticed the cuddly creature that almost felt as if it were alive next to Harry there in bed, when he had told him to 'get in there and sleep' but his voice had been kind and silky and soft and even though Harry wasn't used to hugs, he truly had wished in that moment, that the 'fesser had just given him a quick one before leaving the room.

He had, however, kept the door ajar and for that, Harry was grateful. Well, he was used to sleeping in the dark and amongst spiders but that was a new room and a new bed and a new cuddly toy that made purring noises. It was still rather dark and Harry was frightened for a moment. He was in a new place and what happened if he dreamed of that odd, green light and the woman screaming again? Or the flying motorcycle? He knew he had had to be quiet with Aunt Petunia but she still allowed him out of the cupboard when he was afraid and let him sit in the bright light of the kitchen and sometimes, when she was in a particularly good mood, she even only huffed a little and sometimes, but that had only happened twice or so, had given him some warm milk before she sent him back to the cupboard. He didn't know whether 'fesser Snape would allow him to cry, which he sometimes did when he had a nightmare and he knew that Uncle Vernon abhorred it, even though Dudley used to do it often – but only when he did not get the things he wanted.

Again, the cuddly furball purred and Harry thought it was moving towards him again and it frightened him. He closed his eyes very, very tightly, then opened them quickly. Maybe this way, he thought, he'd be less scared. It had worked before. And it worked now, but only because suddenly, the ceiling of the room – his room – had lit up somehow in a thousand twinkling lights. Like little stars that dotted the ceiling and Harry gasped. This was – awesome. His ceiling (well, the ceiling of his room) twinkled with stars. Magic was wonderful, he thought, even though he did not quite grasp it. And maybe the cuddly stuffed round furball toy was magical as well. Someone had probably bewitched it to make those humming, purring noises to calm Harry and when he listened to it closely, it did calm him. But maybe it was only the ceiling, he wasn't sure.

And even though he did wonder how the cuddly thingy ended up on his chest and even though he really was too old to be cuddling a toy, and even though the lights twinkled so lovely, Harry fell asleep quickly. Unafraid.

xx

No, Severus thought, he would not go and see if the child was sleeping. He would go into his bedroom, do his usual routine before he went to bed, then slip into it and read until his eyes were too tired to keep open. He would not see if the boy was alright. He had to be mean, more or less, to him.

But truly – the boy had accepted his answer. His only telling him that he had gone to school with his parents. Quite uncharacteristically, he had kept quiet then, only a silly, stupid, demented grin on his face and with happiness in his eyes, he had gone to fetch the potions book. Of course that had been when the questions had started. But those were things he taught – there was only one, at the most two, definite answers. It was clear, it was easy to answer them. Easy – but tiring. The boy had more questions than Fawkes had feathers. And incredibly enough, the boy had soaked up the knowledge. He had remembered things. He had asked specific questions. He had listened to his answers. Voluntarily. Happily. And that was, honestly, nothing he was used to. His students _had_ to come to his classes. They had five years to sit in there and had to listen to him talking, or had to answer his questions. The boy wanted to know things. That was – different.

He lay in his bed, wide awake, a book open on his chest, his eyes open, staring at the ceiling. Ne, he would not look in on the boy. He would be fine. Albus had gone absolutely overboard with the room. He wouldn't be surprised if there were twinkling lights on the ceiling as well or any other kind of night light. He was that way, Albus. If nobody else could put himself into the position of a child, he could and Severus had often wondered, still wondered, actually, how Minerva coped with that. But it wasn't his place to think about. He had to sleep.

Simply sleep because – well, the fiend would be up and would have thought of a billion new questions again. And he had to be fit for that – otherwise he would just snap and snarl and that would probably make the boy cry and that was not his intention. His intention was to do all this subtly. Subtly make the boy – what? Dislike him, probably. Slowly. Not with a sledgehammer. Mustn't make Albus suspicious. He smirked to himself, picked up the book from his chest and put it on his bedside cabinet before extinguishing the lights with a softly muttered 'nox'.

xx

He woke up with a start and sat up immediately, disoriented. He had, for a moment, no idea where he was and he was afraid and scared and frightened. He shivered, had somehow shoved all the bedding away, all the covers that had been on him, if there had been some. His sight was blurry and he couldn't find his glasses. He didn't know where his glasses were and he squinted, trying to make out shapes or anything, really, anything to give him a clue where he was. He wasn't at home in the cupboard, that smelled different, that felt different even though the coldness was the same. Pulling his knees up to his chest, he tried to calm himself, stop his heart from beating horribly in his chest and his hands from shaking.

He needed to find his glasses first, and wherever he was, he needed to be quiet and that whimper that had just escaped his throat wasn't good. Systematically. He needed to find his glasses first. And then he needed to really wake up and find out where he was and...another whimper, almost a sob this time, really, tore at his throat and though he fought it desperately, needed to be quiet, he couldn't help it and it escaped him before he could clap his hands to his mouth.

Wherever he was, he wanted to go home. No, not home. Aunt Petunia would freak out when he...

Another sob escaped his lips. He couldn't help it. He had dreamed strangely and he knew he wasn't quite awake yet and what made the purring noise in his room? He only saw strange lights on the ceiling and heard that purring noise and it smelled like – grass and wood.

Maybe he had been abducted by aliens. E.T. E.T. had abducted him. No. He had to wake up decently and it would not help to cry.

No, it would not help to cry at all.

Not at all.

A fat tear was rolling down his cheek and another, and another and somehow, somehow that made Harry remember.

It hadn't been E.T. at all. 'fesser Snape. He cried harder when he realised where he was. He had been rescued and he was with his 'fesser Snape and he even was frightened there. He sobbed desperately now, unable to stop, frightened and ashamed.

xx

Severus listened. Something had woken him. A strange noise that he had not heard for – about 20 years. Well, or just after the exams before the summer holidays. But it couldn't be. The boy was happy, more or less, wasn't he? He couldn't be possibly sobbing. Could he? Why? Snape thought he liked the room and he had been happy and content before going to bed. He grumbled. This was clearly crying. What to do? What to do.

Before he could think about it decently (he had just been woken by a sob, he knew it), something had made him swing his legs out of his bed and before he knew what he was doing (or if he wanted to do it), he trudged out of his room, lit some lights in the living room and yawning and rubbing his face, he pushed the door open to the boy's room – not exactly sure why he should care. But then again, well, it was clear because there's be hell to pay if there was a distressed boy running around in the morning. So he would just put him to sleep. Though he did not know how. And of course did not know why.

Soft light fell into the child's room, the twinkling lights at the ceiling lighting stronger as well and even though Severus was tired and his eyes gritty and dry but he could make out the thin form of the boy huddled in a corner of the huge bed, his knees drawn tight to his chest, crying uncontrollably. Severus groaned quietly, his feet cold on the ground, and only when he stepped into the room, did the boy look up and pressed himself deeper into the corner.

He groaned – then sighed – then listened. There was a strange purring noise but since the boy still sobbed and cried, Severus paid no attention to the noise but moved slowly to the bed. He wasn't sure what he was doing but he knew that he could not leave the boy alone like this.

It hit him again that – well – another dark haired, skinny boy, huddled crying into a corner. Not in comfortable bed like this but in a dingy room – and something constricted in his chest.

"Mr..." that would not help. "Harry." he said and tried not to sound like a teacher.

"'fesser Snape," the boy gasped and stared at him with wide, wet eyes and Severus felt himself tugged, somehow, to the bed and as soon as he only lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed (doing what? He didn't know), the boy had lunged himself at him, crying into his t-shirt.

Somehow, though, and he didn't know why, his hands found the way to the crying boy's back and somehow, he didn't know how, he didn't know why, his hands started rubbing circles.

Maybe, Severus thought, he was dreaming. Or maybe, Severus thought, he just wasn't quite awake yet and that sleep-deprivation had made him do it.

xx


	10. Chapter 10

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx  
**_

Harry Potter could not remember ever feeling so safe in his life before. Maybe he had been, he thought for a fleeting moment, snuggling into the 'fesser and hiding his face in the 'fesser's chest, when he had been a baby and his parents had been alive. But since then, he had never felt so protected. It was awesome, it was warm, it was gentle, it was safe. It was his 'fesser. His 'fesser that stroked lazy circles on his back and his head was a bit lowered, apparently, to his own head and he heard his 'fesser's heart beating strongly and then he clapped his back a bit, when his sobs had subsided and he began to hiccup. It was a bit embarrassing, really. He was a big boy, after all but he didn't want to leave this feeling of safety. And it smelled nice. Just like his 'fesser should smell.

And then, there was the purring noise again and it sounded as if it came from below him. From underneath the bed.

"'fesser?" he hiccuped, making no move to pull away from the embrace and his 'fesser made no move to push him away either, so it might have sounded a bit odd, spoken into the t-shirt he wore.

"Yes?" he asked and his voice sounded very nice indeed and Harry even _felt_ the voice rumbling against his cheek in his chest.

"Do you hear that purring too?" he asked in a little voice and regretted it immediately when his 'fesser grabbed him under the armpits and hoisted him to sit back on fully on the bed. Somehow, he had ended up on his 'fesser's lap. He immediately missed the warmth that his 'fesser Snape had provided and he shivered, pulling up his knees to his chest.

"Yes," his 'fesser said slowly and darted around the room before he spoke a word Harry did not know and added 'wand' and a moment later, his wand sailed through the air to him and he caught it easily. He said another word and the wand, suddenly, pointed underneath the bed.

"'fesser, what is that?" Harry asked, a bit frightened again now but at the same time – there was something else, something different. His 'fesser took him seriously! If he heard a purring noise, he listened and then checked for him. He did not only discard his thoughts as being freakish or weird. He took him seriously. He really took him seriously. He took care of him. He believed him. He listened to him. Really listened. And that alone was amazing. In addition to him consoling him and rushing to his side when he needed someone, was – extraordinary and made Harry look at his 'fesser with absolutely unconcealed adoration. His 'fesser was a hero and he liked him so much. Never wanted to leave. If this was what his life with him would be like, Harry knew that there was no better place on earth at all and when his 'fesser, with long fingers, pulled the purring cuddly from underneath the bed, its tongue sweeping out and tiny, black, beady eyes blinking at his 'fesser.

He made a growling noise, the 'fesser, not the purring thing and held the cuddly up by it's supposed scruff of the neck. Even though Harry wasn't sure whether it had a neck at all. However, it still made the purring noise, though it was a little more high pitched than before.

"'fesser?" he asked again, almost whispering, "what is that? It was in my bed earlier and I thought it was a magical cuddly toy and..."

"It's a Puffskein," his 'fesser answered and Harry wasn't sure how his voice sounded like. A bit angry, maybe? Harry shrunk back a bit.

"I didn't bring it here," he said immediately.

"I know that, silly boy. You didn't even know what it was."

"Where did it come from, 'fesser? What does it do? Who put it here? Is it dangerous?"

His 'fesser groaned again. "No, it's not dangerous. And I have an idea who put it here but I'd have to confirm it. It eats your snot while you sleep," he smirked a bit but Harry, at this moment, was completely mesmerised by the round, bally, furry creature blinking at him again, and, purring that grew calming and calm again.

He knew it was presumptuous. He knew it wasn't right. He knew that his 'fesser looked at the – what was the name? – with something close to disdain and was close to letting it drop on the floor, but he also knew that – well, it had been in his bed. In _his_ bed. And it looked so trustingly at him, somehow. And it sounded nice, now that he knew what it was and what that tongue was for – even though – eating bogies? That was weird. A bit. But he'd never be congested during the night, not have the weird feeling if one of the bogies moved in the nose and tickled and everything. That would be really – a nice pet to have.

"'fesser Snape?" he asked and looked directly at him, pulling his eyes away from the fluffy animal and his 'fesser looked back at him and his eyes, even in the dim light, looked softer and gentler than before. "Can...I mean, may I, probably, I mean...I never had...except the spiders in the cupboard and one was called Wayne and the other Wilma, but Aunt Petunia killed them all once when I was at school and the cupboard smelled really icky that night and I don't know how this got here but I thought that maybe...I'll feed it and take care of it and all and...sir, I...no, it's not important," he hung his head, realising just how stupid he sounded.

xx

Petunia had let him sleep in a cupboard that had probably been fumigated with poison? And he did not dare to ask to keep the bloody Puffskein? A Puffskein. He should have known that Albus would pull a stunt like this, giving the boy a pet immediately. And the boy had named spiders that lived in his cupboard? He did not want a Puffskein in his quarters. He certainly did not want a scavenger that crept on the ground and ate everything on his way, in his rooms.

Oh but – he had to teach him not to use that look. Not to use his eyes quite so deliberately. On the other hand, even though he had just consoled him and had even petted his back (why?) he would still be working on his plan. And if he allowed him to keep the pet – he would take it with him once he left.

But – oh the boy already looked at him with so much trust and, dare he think it, adoration in his eyes, that letting him keep the Puffskein would not further his cause of driving him away.

But – oh he had to keep out of the boy's mind. He did not want to see the images of a little boy letting two rather large spiders crawl across his arms and legs and talking to them softly and returning to a fumigated cupboard. Did not want to see the longing for the pet. And the – adoration – and trust. For him, in him. He shook himself and before he knew what he was doing, he had dumped the Puffskein on the boy's bed.

"You will get instructions how to keep it – him – in the morning. Sleep now."

"I...I can keep it? It's a him?" the boy asked obviously excitedly.

"Yes," he drawled. "For now."

"Thank you thank you thank you," the boy gushed and the Puffskein was forgotten for a moment when he lunged himself at him again.

"Yes, fine. Sleep or I'll change my mind," he replied gruffly and rather roughly, pushed the boy on his back, him, holding the Puffskein to his chest and obviously waited for him to tuck him in. Snape rolled his eyes. "Good night," he said simply and stalked out of the boy's room and huffed to himself, taking a good long look at the faded Dark Mark on his arm to make sure he was really himself – evil former Death Eater, Slytherin, former spy, enemy of all snobbish Gryffindors – and not someone else. Maybe he was possessed. Or maybe he was just tired.

xx

Minerva eyed her colleague with a smirk. He looked rather tired and annoyed. Well, to be honest, Harry did ask rather a lot of questions and she suspected that they had, just a little, fought over her nice surprise for Harry. Despite what everyone (in this case Severus and Poppy) thought, Albus had neither acquired, nor had known about the Puffskein. The same Puffskein that now rode on Harry's shoulders and on top of his head. No. It had been her idea, and her idea alone and she had put it there. She had thought that a boy, alone, this small, in a huge castle, away from the only home he had ever known (even though he had probably disliked it) needed a small, furry friend. And a Puffskein was a helpful pet. Kept spiders (who lived in abundance in the dungeons) away and would help Harry to breathe (literally and metaphorically) better.

Severus, next to her, seemed annoyed. Plenty annoyed. And as she had suspected, it had something to do with the Puffskein that Harry had, apparently, called Rhubarb. He kept on casting disdainful glances at the poor animal that Harry fed a bit of toast from his own plate. Oh, this was fun. As much as the pet had been for Harry, as much had it been for Severus. He would be so annoyed at the little furball when it'd flit over the floor. But he would not have given it away – she knew Severus. Better than a lot of people. He was snarky, he was mean, he was arrogant. But he had been a lonely little boy. And he recognised a lonely little boy in Harry. And to forbid him a pet – no – he wasn't that heartless.

He still fidgeted on his chair and Minerva grinned as she poked him in the ribs. "Albus is in his office if you want to talk to him. He won't come down for breakfast this morning."

"Oh, is he? Severus, are you going up? Could you tell him that if he doesn't need me, I'll like to go home for the rest of the holidays? Horace is already grumpy that I've spent here so long," Poppy smiled and Minerva rolled her eyes, just as she spotted Severus roll his eyes. Their relationship, Horace Slughorn's, the former Potions Master and the mediwitch's was one of those well-kept Hogwarts secrets. Everyone, not only the instructors, knew about it.

"You can go up yourself. Or send an owl," Severus snapped, then as he stood up, nodded towards Harry who was busy with his Puffskein.

"I'll watch him," Minerva smiled. "I think we will explore Hogwarts together, won't we, Harry? I'll bring him to the dungeons later."

Severus grumbled – and in a billow of robes, was off.

"Minerva, 'I'll go then," Poppy said a moment later. "Good bye, Harry."

"Good bye," Harry smiled broadly.

"Give Horace my best," Minerva grinned slyly. "Are you done with breakfast, Harry?"

He nodded, and smiled at her as well. That boy's smile was all Lily's. As well as his eyes. It was uncanny. It was – beautiful to see their legacy, James's and Lily's so happy here. With her. "Well, Mr Potter, how would you like to take a look around this castle?"

"Very much," he beamed. "Will we see the little man called Peeves again? Or owls? And the portraits? And those metal-thingies that you wear?"

Minerva chuckled. This boy was full of questions. And she would do her best to answer all of them.

xx

He knocked once and without waiting for an answer, he stepped into the Headmaster's office. He was angry. The boy carried the bloody pet everywhere. Could not be separated from it, not even in the shower. And had explained, in all detail, why he had named it Rhubarb (because rhubarb crumble was best with custard and the bloody pet was custard-coloured) and had looked at him with those eyes again and has asked whether he could take the Puffskein to breakfast with him – and had taken his groan as a yes.

And now Albus would hear what he thought of it. And that the boy had to go. Somewhere. Not there. Not with his history. Not with him being Lily's son. He was unfit to raise a child. Any child but especially that child.

"Albus, I...", he said and heard one of the portraits tut and as he looked around, he could see why. There was a woman sitting in his usual chair.

"Severus," Albus waved from behind his desk. "May I present Septima Vector, our new Arithmancy teacher?"

"Yes, yes," he waved it off. "I need to talk to you urgently."

"Excuse me, Professer Snape, it is nice to meet you but I believe I've this appointment with the Headmaster. And I'd quite like to resume it. In peace. Without an audience," the woman remarked, her eyebrows raised way up towards her mousy brown hair.

Severus couldn't believe the audacity of this woman. He was about to snarl back – throw anything back in her – quite plain face – but Albus interrupted his beginning tirade. "Severus, I could come down to the dungeons when I'm done here and have shown Professor Vector her rooms."

Rolling his eyes, he turned. "Fine. I'll be in my lab. And that boy is with Minerva. With the bloody pet. And you can keep that. I'm not letting the Puffskein back into my rooms. And the boy can stay with Minerva as well."

xx

"Hullo Peeves!" Harry shouted, grinning, as he finally found the Poltergeist in a corridor high up. Minerva had explained everything. Had answered every question! And though she wasn't as nice as 'fesser Snape, she was quickly becoming his second favourite person in the world, even though every other time she addressed him she called him Mr Potter. And that annoyed him. She was still kind and nice. The tiny man was currently sitting on a banister, smearing something on it.

"Peeves!" Minerva next to him thundered and Harry shrunk back a little. He disliked it when people shouted.

"Oh it's the ickly Potty wee Potter," Peeves cackled and floated above the banister.

"Why don't you call me Harry?," Harry stomped his foot on the ground. "Nobody can remember to call me Harry! My 'fesser says Mr Potter all the time, you say Potty wee Potter and Minerva says Mr Potter as well sometimes. I'm Harry!"

"Harry," Minerva said, and somehow, that woman grinned, though why he didn't know, "Peeves will call you what he likes. He cannot be influenced."

"Don't talk to him as if he wasn't there. I want him to be my friend and I hate when people talk about other people," he mumbled. "Dudley always did."

"Fr-fr-friend?" he heard Peeves mutter and the little man floated towards him. "Friend? Don't you know what I am? Who I am?"

Harry nodded, now suddenly feeling quite small. He had never really had an outburst like that. But the Mr Potter wasn't nice. His father had been Mr Potter, probably, just as Uncle Vernon was Mr Dursley and Dudley was Dudley. Dudley wasn't Mr Dursley. "Friend, Harry, you cannot be friends with a Poltergeist," Minerva interrupted his thoughts.

"Why not?" he asked quietly.

"Because he's a Poltergeist," she said.

"That's no reason," Harry protested. "He seems nice. Sometimes. When he's not bombarding me with something. And because my 'fesser protects me, that's no problem."

"Fr-fr-friend?" Peeves asked again.

"Yes, friend! I don't have a friend, okay? And it is maybe nice to have a friend who pulls pranks on other people. And if I'm your friend, you won't pull any on me. Or will you?" Harry reasoned, trying to make it clear.

The little man seemed a bit paler now, less colourful and suddenly, blew a raspberry. At Minerva, not at him.

"I'll your friend, ickle wee Harry," Peeves declared and moment later, he zoomed through the air hovered in front of Harry and patted his cheek. It felt like, well, cold, and grinned, flashing a lot of teeth, then zoomed over them, and was gone. Without dropping something.

"Well, I never," Minerva muttered and Harry had no idea why she muttered that and why she suddenly looked quite speechless. Even a Poltergeist needed a friend, right? It almost seemed as if that had never happened before though. Harry shook his head and followed the older woman down the staircase, careful of the, well, toothpaste, his new friend had put on the banister.

xx


	11. Chapter 11

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**xx  
**_

He scowled at the old man sitting there, sipping his tea with a bloody twinkle in his eye and it made Severus more than mad. In fact, it made him close to, well, hexing the Headmaster into oblivion. Or the next week given that it was only Tuesday.

"Can't you at least admit to planting that Puffskein in the boy's bed?"

"No," Albus smirked. "I can't because I haven't. I know however, that my wife had an affinity for those animals when she was young and that she gave all her nieces and nephews one. And I know that she went down to Hagrid yesterday and that his pair just had a litter a few weeks ago."

"Minerva," Severus growled. "Why don't you two keep the boy?"

Suddenly, Albus's face grew darker and the twinkle nearly vanished. "Firstly, because you cannot _keep_ a child, my boy. You raise him. You give him a home. We're much too old for that and while Harry might like us, it is you whom he adores, with you, he wants to stay. Secondly, why do you keep referring to him as _the bo_y? His name, as he has pointed out, his Harry. And I'll have you know that Lily picked the name."

"I don't know what she has to do with it," he snapped. "I don't care who named _the boy_. I don't know how many times I have to repeat myself but I am unfit to _raise_ a child. Much less give him a home. I don't understand why he wants to stay with me."

The Headmaster got up from the chair he had sat on and stared down at Severus and the younger man was reminded why a certain Dark Wizard had feared Albus Dumbledore. He was growing angry – and mind, he was only growing angry, wasn't even angry yet. But it was as if a façade, a mask had dropped or maybe put on. He glowered, he seemed close to fuming and the air seemed to crackle with magic. "You," Albus began, his voice thundering almost, and his finger pointing at Severus who had, just a tad, shrunk back, "insisted we take Harry away from his relatives. You promised to keep him safe, to help me protect him. Do not fail to fulfil this promise."

Severus was sorely reminded of the vow, the promise he had made. To Lily's memory, to Dumbledore, to himself. His love for Lily had somehow, over the course of the past 6 years, changed, he knew. He wasn't always acutely aware of the changes, and sometimes, he realised that he still loved her – but not in the way he had when he had begged the Headmaster to keep her safe. She had a place in his heart – and the boy reminded him. And he was so very stupid now, he knew, for wanting to push the boy away when he had the chance to raise him in the memory of his mother, and not the memory of his father. In the way his mother would have done it, if he could, and not as a Quidditch-crazed prankster but a studious nice young boy interested in books. Utter rot. He could not do it. Could not do it at all.

But Albus was right. He had a promise to fulfil and slowly, hung his head. He had, put that way, no chance but to let the boy stay. He had been responsible to bring the boy to Hogwarts and he had promised to keep him safe. And where could he guarantee his safety? Not in any family. Not anywhere but under his own watchful eye.

He jerked his head up when he felt a large but gentle hand squeezing his shoulder. "Don't fret, my boy. We will support you. But it might even be beneficial for you."

"Beneficial for me?" he asked and his voice sounded, oddly hoarse.

"Yes, Severus. And not only because of the reason you think..."

"The Dark Lord," he said. "I can..."

"There are other reason," the Headmaster interrupted. "But those are for you to figure and not for me to point out."

"Albus, what do you...," he began, his voice growing steadier and angrier again. He didn't know what to feel – anger, rage, confusion – but all that turned into annoyance, when the door was burst open (just burst open, no knock, nothing) and the little fiend stormed in, the bloody Puffskein riding on his head again, Minerva in tow. Well, two people Severus could glare at now, pushing all the confusion away. How dare the little beast to just storm in there? It was not as if he was actually liv...oh well. He did. Apparently. And Minerva with her bloody Cheshire Cat grin. Maybe, Severus thought, he should force-transfigure her into her Animagus-form and let the boy and the animal have their way with the cat. Pulling tails, overly stroking – she would certainly dislike that and his wand seemed to almost want to fall into his waiting finger.

"Don't even think it, Severus," Minerva said, knowingly, pointing at his wand-hand. "I can see your fingers twitching."

"'fesser Snape, 'fesser Snape," oh, the fiend had now seen him and discovered him and bounced, the Puffskein called Rhubarb bouncing on his head with him, like a little stupid furry hat on the unruly mop of hair (at least he had managed to flatten the hair over his scar again), towards him, tugging on his sleeve. "'fesser Snape, we went to the Astronomy Tower and to the hut of Haggid and he told me that Rhubarb will eat spiders. But I like spiders and then Haggid said that he would eat anything else that was on the floor and I should just let him furry around on the floor. That's a word I made up. And then I said that Rhubarb was like a Hoover and Haggid didn't know what a Hoover was, so I had to explain but I don't think he understood and then there was this huge dog and he slobbered all over me and may I take a bath, please, later? Because the doggie was nice but I still smell like him all over. And then Minerva and I met Peeves and he agreed to be my friend after he put toothpaste on the banister and then..."

"Would you like to take a breath?" Severus drawled and sniffing, he could indeed smell the dog-stench coming from the boy's direction. At least, he thought, the boy was sensible and not all over the huge, furry thing. Severus disliked dogs, for obvious reasons, and well, he could maybe deal with a Puffskein but definitely not with a dog. For obvious reasons. But the boy did sound sensible. To a degree.

"I am breathing," he laughed. "And then..."

"Wait, did you just say that Peeves, the Poltergeist Peeves agreed to be your friend?" he said the last words as if it was one of the worst to ever come over his lips.

"Yes, 'fesser Snape, that's awesome cool, right? Nobody will bully me with you around and with Peeves as my friend. And if I'm friends with him, he won't drop anything on me, right? And because you protect me and because Peeves knows that, he won't drop anything on you either. Well, I'm actually not so sure about that, but I'm sure I could tell him not to."

Snape shot a bewildered glance at the Headmaster and his wife. It was unknown for Peeves to agree to anything anyone said. And friends? With a Poltergeist? That just didn't make any sense. It couldn't be.

"It's true, Severus," Minerva sighed. "Stormed up and made friends with him. I heard Peeves agree."

"That's what I said," the boy looked a little, well, crestfallen now. "Don't you believe me?" he asked further, his voice growing smaller and smaller, "Do you think I lie?"

"And on that note," Albus said cheerfully, "I believe it is our cue to go. Come on, wife."

"I dislike being called that, you know."

"She also dislikes being called Minnie," Harry whispered now. "She was all angry with me and it only slipped out."

Severus could only shake his head at that – whatever it was. Comedy, probably, that was taking place right there in front of his eyes. Harry Potter calling the sternest, severest teacher (apart from himself, of course) Hogwarts knew Minnie? Making friends with a Poltergeist? Carrying a Puffskein on top of his head? It was a dream. Or he had fallen down a rabbit-hole and any moment now there'd be a chorus of house elves commenting the happenings on the stage. Maybe with a Muggle musical tune.

"Believe me," Minerva poked his ribs, "you're not dreaming. It's just a breath of fresh, very fresh air." And with that, she and her husband left, without him having the chance to question her about the Puffskein, or telling them both to stay out of his life. Without him having the chance that he really really really wanted to wake up from this surreal nightmare and that he wanted his old life back. Please.

"'fesser Snape?" the little fiend did not grant him his wishes. "Do you think I lie?"

"No," he replied automatically. "I do not think you lie."

"Good because I'm not. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon always thought I did but I never. Because even if I had lied, they still wouldn't have believed me and it didn't help me any to lie."

Severus listened up at that moment._ It didn't help me any to lie. _That was – oh he had to test this. "Would you have lied if it had helped you any?" he asked, slyly.

xx

Harry didn't understand the question but close to his ear, he heard a faint, not so happy purring and Haggid had explained that this was the noise that Rhubarb would make when he was hungry. Or had to use the loo. Well, Harry had not figured out the loo-situation yet and he didn't want to make his 'fesser angrier by stepping into Puffskein-dung. Or anything. Whatever it was. Nevertheless, he plucked Rhubarb from his head, and it almost seemed as if the little fellow was smiling at him when he set him gently on the ground. "Please don't eat any spiders," he whispered to his pet and a moment later, it furried (he liked the word) on the ground, with his long tongue looking for food. Harry then focused on his 'fesser again.

"What do you mean?" he asked quietly and 'fesser Snape sighed.

"If, at the Dursleys you had lied if you had known that it would help you in any way, would you have?"

That was a stupid question. "Of course," he replied readily. "I don't like lying much and I would never lie to you but if..." he trailed off.

"Interesting," his 'fesser muttered.

"What is?"

"Oh, nothing," he smirked. Why was he smirking now? He didn't understand his 'fesser at all. It wasn't right to lie, he knew that from Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon but if it had gotten him out of the cupboard, or out of trouble, well, he probably would have done it. Not that it would have worked. And he certainly didn't want his 'fesser to think that he was lying to him. He wouldn't do that. His 'fesser, so far, had always been honest with him, too. So it was just fair, wasn't it?

"'fesser?"

"Yes?" he drawled.

"Erm...," Harry didn't know how to ask. And to be honest, he really wanted to take a bath but afterwards, he didn't want to change into the stinking clothes and he didn't know how to ask for clean ones (he had not seen any in his room) and it was certainly too early to change into the pyjamas he had worn. He hadn't even had tea yet though Haggid had given him some very hard, very sweet biscuits. Fortunately, Minerva had taken it away from him after the first bit. It still hurt his teeth though.

"What? Just ask. Or say. You're otherwise not afraid to be asking questions," his 'fesser said and Harry had to giggle. Now that he was sure that he hadn't thought he was lying, and that he didn't think he would lie and that somehow that topic seemed gone now anyway, he felt better. Even though he had only ever asked to keep Rhubarb and that had been hard enough. And that bath-question earlier had been, well, not really been asking for it. More, what was the word?, theotetical. Or teothetical. Or something like that. Not for real. But he was always talking a lot. And asking a lot but the 'fesser did understand, Harry felt, that this was the first time in his life when he felt that he was allowed questions and talking. And he got answers and replies and his 'fesser even took him seriously.

"Erm, may I, erm, maybe, I don't, I mean it's not really bath-time yet and Aunt Petunia only ever said that I could use the garden hose outside during the day, but maybe, erm, for an exception? Maybe. Because it really smells icky and is sticky and slobbery...and..."

His 'fesser looked at him weirdly. Like he had done something, well, not wrong, but surprising and when he answered, when he said something, it was in a very kind, but strangled sort of voice. "I take it you remember where the bathroom is?" He nodded eagerly. Of course he didn't. He wasn't stupid. "Well then, what are you waiting for? Or do you expect me to give you a bath?"

He sniggered. He was seven! He was a big boy. He could wash himself. But then his sniggers stopped. There was still the matter of clothes. Those stank. "'fesser Snape?" he asked again.

"What is it now?" he asked, and looked into Harry's eyes again.

"Erm, it's just that..."

Then, his 'fesser had an even stranger look on his face. Something weird had just happened, Harry thought, even though he didn't know what it was but in a quick second it seemed that his 'fesser had remembered something or anything and he looked, for only a heartbeat, almost sad.

"There will be clothes in your room. And a bathrobe in the bathroom. Put that on before you run around here naked," he said suddenly, strangely and as Harry dashed, happily, to the bathroom, Rhubarb quick on his heels, he thought that sometimes it felt as if his 'fesser could read his mind.

xx


	12. Chapter 12

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx  
**_

Severus Snape found himself wide awake again. In the middle of the night. He walked silently, in socks, through his rooms. Nothing much had changed there. Well, there was an extra door, naturally, which was open a little, and he saw the maddening twinkling lights on the ceiling and a soft sigh from the boy inside. He did not hesitate this time, this night, to pad to the open door and look inside, the boy sleeping there, on his side with the Puffskein pressed to his chest. He knew he had to make a decision. The boy was the target of many people still. The boy would be the target of even more people if, or rather when, the Dark Lord came back. And the boy was, as far as he could tell in that moment as he watched him sleep, innocent. Yes, he was Potter's, he was very well aware of that. And he was Lily's, he was even more aware of that. But he had done nothing. Except vanishing a Dark Wizard. He was a child. And no child, no single one, should be treated the way he had been treated. And not the way the boy had been treated.

And he could only do one thing to prevent this. He had to take the child. He had to let try and raise him. He had to make sure that he was free of all outside influence apart from his own. If he did raise the boy, there would be no more toys from the Dumbledores, no more pets, no more rules from anyone but him. If he took care of the boy, which it now looked like, because he couldn't think of anymore families, he, and he alone would decide. The boy would live under his roof (well, in his rooms, the roof was technically Hogwarts') and he would follow his rules. In the morning, he would make the boy take a roll of parchment and write down the most important ones to memorise. He had no idea yet which those might be, in fact, but as he looked at the boy, muttering in his sleep, he knew they'd come to him.

But, most importantly, he could make sure that the boy was properly prepared to eventually face the Dark Wizard again. If it came to this. That had been the reason to pull the way out of his known home in the first place, hadn't it? It had not been because the boy had suffered under his relatives. It hadn't had anything to do with the fact that he had been mistreated and that the boy had been mistreated. At first, and he remembered it well now that he moved slowly away from the boy's room, he had wanted to make sure that the boy was away from an environment in which nobody ever spoke about wizardry and about what had happened to his parents. About himself. Harry Potter would have never learned about himself in that environment. And that had been the main reason he had agreed to pick up the boy. That had been the sole reason. He had picked him up, had agreed with Mrs Figg because he did not want to stand on the side of an old man and an unprepared boy if worst came to worst. This was the angle he had to see this from. He was not raising the boy. He was preparing him for a world full of people who wanted to harm him.

And that would require rules and training and coaching and studying. That – he could. The softer emotions, like the waking up in the middle of the night and then crying and consoling, well, someone else had to do that. Not him. It had been alright once, would even be alright a second time but more than that, he could not do. He had not been brought up that way. He had been brought up in a sense of fighting and having to fight and not giving up and he had seen, first hand, what giving up could do to a person and it had been the best example of what not to do. No. The fighting, maybe the teaching, that he could do. For the rest, and for teaching him how to read and write decently, especially when school was back in session, he had to find someone else. Not him.

On the other hand – he would pick the people. Not Albus, not Minerva, not Poppy. He would pick. The boy with his already tiny Slytherin-thinking would not be brought up by a bunch of Gryffindors. Would not only be surrounded by Gryffindors. In order to succeed over a Slytherin, such as the Dark Lord, there had to be a Slytherin. There had to be cunning and there had to be thinking before charging and only blindly rushing into things. And the boy had already proven that he was not that averse to Slytherin thinking. He would do this. His rules. No running in the rooms. No asking questions all the time but only to certain topics. No whining. No … how did one make rules for children?

The only rule he had known as a child, well, the main rule had been: Stay away from Father. There were a few minor ones, yes, but it had all come back to Stay away from Father. Especially when he had been drunk. And Severus did not think the boy would stay away from him (and he didn't drink much anyway). What other rules were there?

He would make them up as he went. Would start with the basics in the morning. Obeying, bedtimes, running, feeding the bloody Puffskein (if there wasn't enough on the floor), making sure the Puffskein knew not to use the floor as a loo, and...well, he would, could think about them. And he would keep the boy busy and under his supervision. He wouldn't like brewing, of course, even though he might just bombard him with questions about it but that's what silencing charms were for. And then, the boy would be easy to care for. He hoped.

Severus was just on his way back to his own bed – not quite remembering why he had left it in the first place – when there was a soft voice speaking behind him – with a lisp. "'fesser Snape?"

He spun around and saw the boy standing there, the Puffskein pressed to his chest, on bare feet. Well, the pyjamas did fit well and Severus expected the other clothes to fit just as well. He was, after all, no idiot but a decent wizard and he could transfigure clothes. Though he would have to send an elf to Madame Malkin's or some other store for clothes. Those he had transfigured from everything he could find (at the moment he was wearing a piece of parchment, really) would not last long. But the boy had needed clothes, well fitting, decent clothes. Unlike...well.

"You seem to have a habit of waking up during the night," he replied coldly.

"Yes, sometimes Uncle Vernon went downstairs when Aunt Petunia was sleeping and he drank a bit of brandy or something and he always woke me when he walked down the stairs," the boy answered – apparently honestly – rubbing his eyes. So he was even used to being woken in the middle of the night. Wonderful. What had he just thought? Letting the boy stay there? Teaching him? Stupid idea. Stupid, stupid, stupid idea.

"And why are you up now?" he asked instead of pondering those questions.

"I'm a little thirsty. Do you think I could have a glass of water, please?" he asked, his voice small and sleepy.

Severus groaned. Had just wanted to go to bed and there was the little fiend, up. He summoned, silently, a glass and with a non-verbal Aguamenti, filled it with clear, cold water. The boy looked in utter astonishment before he gulped down the water, making Severus groan again. That would mean that the boy would have to use the bathroom soon again and that would mean less sleep again. And a stomach-ache from the amount of cold water.

"Slow," he found himself say and the boy smiled at him, while drinking. Severus was tempted to take a look into the child's mind but he knew it was wrong to do all the time. If he planned on training the boy to eventually vanish the Dark Lord, the boy would have to trust him to a certain extent. He knew the level of trust the boy had in him already was high – too high in his opinion but there was nothing he could do about it.

It was strange, he thought, as he saw the boy smiling at him, how he had changed his mind in such a short span of time. But maybe, no. It was simpler to explain to himself that he was doing it because he was doing it for himself because, well, in all honesty, he did not fancy being a spy again. Living as a spy. He did not want to live under the rule of a Dark Wizard. He liked his quiet (or, since the boy had arrived, not so quiet) life at Hogwarts. He was preparing this for himself. He was doing this for self preservation. He was doing the Slytherin thing.

xx

Harry felt utterly tired and after that wonderful chilly glass of tasty water, he felt about ready to go to bed, Rhubarb pressed against his chest. But he, on the other hand, he wanted, somehow, to be tucked in. He knew it was too much to ask for and his 'fesser looked pretty tired as well and so, Harry just smiled, and quickly leaned against his 'fesser who sat there on the table, his head, for a moment only, against the man's arm and smiling again, he trudged back into his room. His wonderful room and he had, so far, slept much better. In lovely pj's and with Rhubarb beside him and everything. A lot of things should be going through his head, he knew. He had heard so much during his day and had so many questions and so far, it felt like a – holiday really. He had no school to think about, nothing. No chores, even. Nothing. And enough food and drink, even during the night and when he had to go to the loo later, he knew where it was, and he could go without having to be extra-quiet. He wanted to be quiet, true, because his 'fesser looked like he needed the sleep, but he didn't have to. 'fesser Snape would not yell at him when he stubbed his toe on something.

"Good night, 'fesser," he said and smiled, and for another moment, leant against him, looking up, "Thank you for the water."

He looked stunned, a bit at least and Harry felt something, well, someone, pat his shoulder, and his 'fesser nodded quickly, looking quite friendly, as Harry scampered off back into his room and his smile grew when he heard the 'fesser say, "Good night, Harry."

xx

He had written a couple of rules on a piece of parchment which he presented to the boy after breakfast. The boy looked almost fearfully as he noticed what it was and with wide eyes, read slowly, using his fingers for reading. Those were sensible rules, Severus thought, and neatly written down.

HARRY POTTER WILL (stood on top of the parchment in big letters):

1. Not yell, shout or scream.

2. Not slam doors.

3. Do as Professor Snape says without complaining or making excuses.

4. Clean up and put away things in his room. Keep his room tidy.

5. Not leave things lying around in the living room.

6. Not borrow or take things without asking permission.

Severus thought those were sensible indeed. It was nothing the boy could not do, and it seemed, the boy realised that as well. His eyes, suddenly, and Severus wasn't sure why, lit up and he stared at him with those big, hopeful eyes.

"That's all?" he asked, sounding almost excited. "Those are all the rules I have to obey?"

"Are seven not enough for you?" he asked back sarcastically.

"No, but it's so easy to follow them," he replied, wide-eyed. "There is nothing in there about not doing freaky stuff and there is nothing in there about not lying or cheating or not being allowed to be better than Dudley in school. What's about school? Do I go back to Dudley's school? And will I be allowed to be better than him then?"

"What's that?" he found himself asking. "About being better than your cousin?"

"Aunt Petunia said," the boy replied hesitatingly, "that I couldn't be better than Dudley at school and when I was, because I am smarter than him, she immediately went to school and told Miss Skiller that it could not possibly that I was better and Uncle Vernon said I had cheated but I didn't. But I can read better than Dudley but after that, my grades were almost worse than his. I don't know why but I heard Aunt Petunia tell Uncle Vernon that she had threatened my teacher to report her to the board and that she would get her sacked if she continued to treat me better than Dudley. What does sacked mean, 'fesser Snape?"

"She did what?" he asked, rage surging through him. Petunia Evans was evil. More than evil. Petunia Evans would get what she deserved. All in due time. And when the boy had settled in alright, he would go pay the woman a visit. Her and her stupid husband. Not being allowed to read, not being allowed to pay attention at school. All because she thought her own child was worth more and probably forgetting that this was Lily's son, her own nephew. She had a duty, for heaven's sake, towards her sister and her sister's child. Well, had had a duty. And she had neglected that duty. Simple. And neglecting of duty was, in Severus's opinion, the worst offence. He had never done it and he had now even more or less accepted the duty of taking care of the boy. Even though this shouldn't have been his duty. But he had to now that nobody else did it. Was him, again, that had to pick up the pieces.

"'fesser Snape?" the boy asked insistently. "Is that really all?"

"Yes," replied Snape annoyed. "That's all."

"Can we maybe pin them somewhere so I can remember them? And not make any mistakes?"

He nodded and with a flick of the wand, the rules hung on the wall next to the door. The boy asked but his eyes grew weird. He seemed to think of something else. Something important.

"What, erm, I mean, not that I want to, but what will happen when...you know...I don't obey one of the rules. Accidentally, I mean."

Severus sighed softly. He never wanted to hex nor hit the boy. Hexing or hitting would not help at all. And he, more than that, detested, corporal punishment. It happened easily, that detesting, if one had suffered under it, first from a violent father, then from a megalomaniac Dark Wizard. Hitting, or hexing, or inflicting any other kind of pain would only make the boy more obstinate. Not that he was obstinate now – but he would grow that way soon. He had not thought about repercussions, consequences. Had taken him long enough to figure out those rules in the first place and had cost him about two hours sleep.

"That depends on the offence," he replied steadily, glad to have caught that straw. "And of course I can add rules as I see fit."

The boy nodded pensively, then looked up at him, something in his eyes that Severus could not pinpoint. "Erm, 'fesser Snape, sir?" he asked slowly and Severus found himself nod.

"Yes?"

"I er, there's I mean nothing in the rules, and I read them twice and I don't really know but do you think, I mean I'll be careful and all...and..."

"Enough," Severus bellowed. This was too exhausting. With a flick of his wand, he quickly added another rule to those hanging on the wall.

7. Speak in complete sentences and correct English.

He giggle when he read that rule and nodded instantly. "I'll try," he said, smiling.

"Do you still want to ask something then?" Severus drawled.

xx

It was really difficult, Harry thought, to ask something just like that. 'fesser Snape had, so far, never really said no to anything he had asked but he still felt just a little bit shy. It had all happened a bit quick and sometimes, he felt that neither 'fesser Snape nor Minerva answered all his questions the way they should and that they kept something from him. The only one, so far, who had tried to answer his questions had been, well, his new friend Peeves. And there was no rule, after all, who forbid him to play a bit. With Peeves. Or outside. He was longing to explore the castle, really. And that, he wanted to ask. Now, English. Complete sentence. Preferably, probably, no stuttering.

Harry took a deep breath. "There is nothing in the rules about playing, 'fesser Snape. Does that mean that I cannot, er, play?"

"Play?" his 'fesser asked, confused, apparently, his eyebrows very high on his forehead.

"Yes," Harry nodded, trying to look at him with those big puppy dog eyes that Dudley always used on Aunt Petunia (because Dudley was so daft that he didn't realise that he didn't have to use them) and it seemed to work since Harry saw his 'fesser's thingy on the throat (what was it called again?) bobbing up and down and the 'fesser's black Batman cloak was still hanging over the chair and Harry could see the 'fesser's throat. He seemed to swallow really hard and Harry, with what he hoped was a winning smile, expanded. "I thought playing with Peeves a bit and just exploring this corridor. I don't want to walk far, sir."

The 'fesser was very quiet, then nodded slowly. He wasn't sure what had made his 'fesser change his mind, or whether he had always intended to let him go play but for a moment, Harry just stood there as he moved to a bookshelf and pulled out a book.

"'fesser Snape?" he asked carefully.

"This corridor and the next," his 'fesser replied. "And you won't be allowed further. There will be lines." Harry knew he was explaining something but Harry did not understand but a moment later, there was a cold, tingling feeling all over him and he felt confused.

Oh, maybe he was using magic on him! Well, there was only one way to find out. "What was that, 'fesser?"

"Restrictions," he said. "It is a charm placed on you that will not allow you to walk far away from those rooms."

"Cool!" Harry exclaimed excitedly. "May I..."

"You will only be allowed in this corridor and the next. You will call if you're in distress but the corridors should be clear. Be back in half an hour," he added and his voice sounded strangled and weird and Harry decided it was better to leave now than be forbidding to leave later and before his 'fesser could say anything, he scampered away, in his new clothes. Again it was a bright green shirt and black trousers and new shoes. Comfortable, new black shoes.

They had just been there after he had come from the bath the night before and all those clothes were lovely. Maybe it would be a little cold in this cellar of the castle in only the t-shirt but it would be fine. He would come back in half an hour anyway. Or maybe earlier, just to check whether half an hour was over yet. He had no watch.

He stormed out and ran a bit, then rounded a corner and ran a bit more. Running came almost natural to him. Had done it so often, then there was a slight sting and he was pushed back. He tried again but it seemed there was something like an invisible wall he ran against and he pushed a finger against it. It was cool! Really cool. He pushed his finger against it again. At first it felt like gum, then it was solid. Gummy solid wall.

"Cool," he whispered again and grinned.

"Potty wee Harry!" there was a zooming noise and suddenly, Peeves appeared out of nowhere, hovering next to him.

"Hello Peeves! I'm happy you're here because I especially asked 'fesser Snape to let me play outside and I sort of hoped you'd show up."

"Potty wee Harry wants to see Peevesey?"

Harry nodded happily and bounced a little. "I did I did. Can we play for a bit? But my 'fesser said I can leave that and the next corridor and there is a kind of gummy wall there that I can't get through but I thought we could just play?"

"Potty wee Harry wants to play with Peevesey," the little man stated.

"Yes!" he bounced excitedly. "Can we?"

"What does Potty wee Harry wants to play?"

"Catch?"

xx

It was only the next morning, Severus warming more and more to the idea of having the boy with him in his rooms (he had been very peaceful after letting him play outside in the morning for half an hour and an hour in the afternoon), that he realised something was different. He had just come out of his room, dressed and shaved and clean that he saw the parchment with the rules he had given the boy.

And next to it, another bit of parchment, smaller and in the same style as the one next to it. He stepped closer and let out a growl of – well, something. The impertinence. The boy had not thought of this alone. Peeves. Or Minerva. Minerva. It sounded like Minerva.

But when he read what was written in a scrawl on the parchment, he had to swallow. Too much of his own childhood, so much of the own rules he had wanted to give his parents.

PROFESSOR SNAPE WILL:

1. Always pay attention to me

2. Let me ask as many questions as he likes and will answer them.

3. Take good care of me.

4. Never lie to me.

5. Never send me away.

He swallowed. He would – he would – well, first of all talk to the Dumbledores and tell them to keep out. And then...well, he'd see.

xx


	13. Chapter 13

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx  
**_

Harry felt a weird stirring in his stomach when he woke up that morning. He couldn't straight away pinpoint what it was, almost as if he knew that something dreadful was about to happen or that something dreadful had happened and he would have to see the consequences. It almost felt as it had that one time when he had known that there was no milk anymore in the fridge and that Aunt Petunia had told him to buy some and he had forgotten and he had known that there would be trouble at breakfast. Big, big trouble. He had not wanted to get up then and he sort of felt the same way now. Even though he couldn't immediately understand why. But a moment later, when he tried to push the feeling away, tried to look forward to another day at his new home and with his 'fesser when he remembered.

It had looked and seemed like fun at the time but it wouldn't be now. Oh he would be absolutely mad. He had had no right to write a list. He had even less right to write a list of rules of all things. It had seemed such a fun idea when Minerva had found him and Peeves playing (oh he liked Peeves!) in the corridor and he had just blabbed that he had given him a list of rules to follow which were so easy! And then Minerva had smirked and had said what he thought about making a list for his 'fesser. And it had seemed such a fun thing to do. Nothing really serious. It had maybe been stupid to write it in the first place but it had been even stupider to get up when he had heard his 'fesser snoring and to pin it up there. That had been – oh so stupid. He had no right to do it and Minerva's idea had been stupid right from the start.

He wouldn't listen to her anymore when she suggested something like that. The 'fesser would be mad and rightly so. He couldn't give anyone rules. Not at all. He was just a kid. He followed rules and he didn't make them. Oh he would be so mad and Harry dreaded getting up and getting dressed. He had already made a mistake and he had only had lived there for three days. Only three days and he had already made such a huge mistake.

And only because, well, he had been influenced by Minerva, yes, but he had been so stupid as to think that he should actually do it. That it would be fun. Well, he would have never had the idea in the first place if Minerva had not mentioned it. But it had been him who had done it. He should not have listened to her even if she was a grown up. He should not have done it. He should not have done it.

Should not have done it.

Getting out of bed was very hard that morning even though he really had to go to the loo. He knew it was okay to run to the bathroom in his pyjamas but he did not dare to. He sat on the edge of his lovely bed, in his lovely room, dangling his legs only a tiny little bit and pressed his thighs together. He knew he shouldn't cry and he knew it wouldn't help him any if he did. No, he needed...he needed to do something. Something...something.

He needed to tell the 'fesser (and he hoped he would still be his after his mistake) that he was sorry and that he had not meant those rules. That it was okay if he added about ten others and Harry would obey every single one without complaining. And without ever demanding anything else. It was enough to just stay somewhere. Not even in this room. He could sleep anywhere, really. Even the corridors weren't that bad, as he had found out the day before while playing with Peeves. Peeves would hopefully still be his friend. Peeves was fun.

Oh, he had to say he was sorry. He just had to tell the 'fesser that he was sorry and that he hadn't meant it that it was just an idiotic mistake and that he could punish him for that. Harry closed his eyes, willing the pain in his bladder away, willing, for the time being, the throbbing in his stomach away and scooted slowly off his lovely bed. He wanted to keep that bed. And for that, well, he had to say he was sorry. Very, very sorry.

As soon as his bare feet hit the cold floor, he darted off. His door ajar, he pushed it open and ran to the man who, oh no, stood in front of the rules he had pinned there. With his arms crossed over his chest and his face looking like – thunder.

"I'm so sorry, sir" he cried and rushed straight to him, into his legs and flinging his arms around him. He didn't know why he did it, really, but it seemed just the right thing to do. His arms were around the man and he looked up and he couldn't really stop a few tears from shooting into his eyes. "I'm so sorry," he repeated, "I'm really, really sorry. I didn't mean it. I don't know why I did it. I really...'fesser Snape. I don't know why, I did it and pinned them there and I'm so sorry!"

He looked at Harry and there was something in the 'fesser's eyes that he could not understand. But he wasn't that angry. In fact, while Harry still clung to him and eventually had to hide his face in the folds of his Batman cape, he felt two hands descending on his shoulders, first squeezing gently, then after a moment, pulling him away a bit.

xx

The boy darted through the entire living room and suddenly clung to him, telling him he was sorry over and over again, crying then, suddenly, and all that snot on his robes.

He couldn't even see the boy's eyes, couldn't even use Legilimency (oh, he had to stop that anyway) to see what this was about. From what he could gather from his words, it might have something to do with that bit of parchment pinned to the wall. The child hiccuped into his robes, then Severus could, with his hands on the fiend's shoulders, pull him off.

"What is this about?" he asked, grabbing him and leading him to a chair where he sat down contritely, sniffing and sniffling.

"I...'fesser Snape, I'm sorry. It was a stupid idea and I should have never listened to her and I knew it was wrong but then I didn't and thought it would be fun and...but I knew it was stupid and idiotic and I shouldn't have done it but I did and I'm sorry and you can punish me and hit me and belt me and I'll sleep in the corridors, it's okay, there was a ghost and she looked sad but I'm sure she'll look over me because she looked at me so strangely and nothing will happen but don't send me back to Aunt Petunia because it was stupid of me and I'm sorry," he blurted, rapidly, without taking a breath.

Severus sighed. "What are you sorry for?"

The boy looked at him with big, green, shining eyes and gasped. "The rules, 'fesser Snape."

"Ah," he nodded. "I see. And if you knew it was stupid, why did you do it?"

The boy cringed a little and seemed to think for a very long time and there it was – a hesitancy to sneak. Not wanting to tell on someone.

"Was it, by any chance, not you in the first place that had the idea?" he asked in the voice that would make every Hufflepuff first year cry.

The boy, looking on the ground, just nodded. And of course he wore no shoes. Would catch cold and a little boy with a cold was about the most annoying thing in the world. As if he had never done anything else, he whipped his wand out and cast a warming charm on the child's feet, and he looked up at Severus, astonished.

"Let me guess then," he continued, "Someone told you to write down the rules and to pin them there."

The boy shook his head immediately. "No, I made them up. I really did. And I pinned them there when you were asleep and when I woke up last night. I can always tell because you snore a little. And I just made them up before going to bed when you let me read and I found the parchment out here on the table and Minerva only said that...oh," he stopped, noticed he had, in all his zeal, revealed a lot.

"Minerva had the idea to make rules for me?" he asked and after a long while, the boy nodded. "I see. Well then..."

"We take them down, right, 'fesser? I mean they don't mean anything and you won't tell Minerva that I told on her, will you? Because she didn't really make me do it like Dudley made me eat those tadpoles last year. I didn't want to do that either because I know it was wrong but he dunked my head in the water and said he'd do it for much longer if I didn't swallow at least two and I had to otherwise he would have put my head under water for a long time and Minerva didn't do that, she just suggested that I might want to make a list too because it would be fun if we both lived under certain rules and I thought so and then I thought of all the things that I'd love to have and never really had and that came out and it was all written down quickly and I'm sorry but she didn't really make it me it was all my idea so we will take them down and you won't tell her?"

Snape groaned. How could so much – so many words – come out of such a rather small mouth, small head, small body, so quickly? At least he was forming almost correct English sentences. Except that 'fesser-thing. He would have to get that out of the boy. But it wasn't, at the moment, very high on his list of priorities. Something else, yes, something else was more important.

Finding out what exactly had happened. And there was one, simple way.

He focused on the boy's eyes, tried not to be swayed by how much they looked like someone else's and delved, carefully, into his mind. The long and the short of it was, no matter how one looked at it, that it had been Minerva's suggestion to write rules and the boy had made those. Had only put in the things he longed for and for a brief moment only, Severus wondered whether he could blame the boy for those and came to a very clear conclusion.

No.

This boy wanted one thing – well, two. He wanted to belong somewhere and he wanted security. Not too much to ask for even though Severus was well aware that plenty of children never had it either. He hadn't had it. He hadn't experienced it and as such, probably unfit to give it. But Lily's boy should have security and should belong somewhere. To someone. And if, by some weird coincidence, this had fallen to him, he would do his duty and try to give the boy security. And a sense of belonging.

After – he had hexed Minerva into oblivion. After the boy had breakfast. And after he had a cup of tea. Usually no trouble, the house elves never minded bring him food or drinks to his quarters but the child was, at the moment, insecure and weepy enough as it was. No need to add to that. He would send him away, getting dressed, and if he interpreted the wriggling of the boy on the chair, it wouldn't be so difficult to get him out of the living room long enough to order breakfast.

"I suggest, you go to the bathroom, get washed up and then dressed," he said slowly to the boy who sat with clenched thighs and a tear clinging to his eyelashes.

"But you won't tell," he whispered pleadingly and Severus, though he knew he disregarded one of the _rules_, shook his head. "Thank you," the boy nodded, not smiling this time and was off quite quickly, running to the bathroom.

xx

Oh the 'fesser wasn't that angry. And when he had returned from the bathroom and had gotten dressed, there had been breakfast on the table in their living room and he had said to sit down and eat and the rules had still been there.

"We will take a little walk up the castle after breakfast," his 'fesser had explained as he sipped on his tea and as Harry gulped down his pumpkin juice and ate his toast.

"Are you not angry?" he had then asked quietly and his 'fesser had only shaken his head, looking at him and his face had been, while not smiling, nice. There had been a slight arch of one eyebrow as he had shaken his head and Harry took that as a good sign, especially since his mouth was a straight line and his lips not as thin as they had been before.

Only moments later, he had gruffly wiped a crumb of toast off Harry's chin and that small gesture alone made him jump up and down for joy. His 'fesser took care that he didn't look ridiculous and that made him skip beside the man, up the stairs and along a corridor. Unfortunately, Peeves was nowhere to be seen. It would have been fun to play with his 'fesser and his friend. They stopped in front of a door that was also one of those moving picture thingies and his 'fesser looked at him, and a bit at Rhubarb who was again balancing on top of his head.

"Can I trust you not to run away?"

Harry nodded solemnly. "I promise to be good and won't go far. The pictures answer me when I talk to them and I can do that."

"Good," his 'fesser said and vanished into the room, leaving Harry alone in the corridor. Well, alone – for the first thirty seconds or so.

xx

He knocked once, then stepped into Minerva's office. He suspected she would be in there, preparing for the coming school year, and if she wasn't, well, he would find her somewhere else. But, he was lucky and she sat there, on her desk, talking.

Talking, of course, to that woman again that had been in Albus's office before. Arithmancy-person. Couldn't remember the name. Vec-something.

"Good morning," said Minerva, with a smile. "How nice of you to drop by," she added sarcastically.

"I need to talk to you about that idea you gave the boy," he snapped, not caring whether the woman still sat there.

"Albus has introduced you to Septima Vector, hasn't he?" she asked cordially.

"Yes," he groaned and looked at her. She was – plain. In a crowd of people, she'd be the one overlooked. Dirty blonde, light brown hair, brown eyes, rather chubby, small, probably, by the way he could judge. "Would you mind terribly if I had two minutes with the Deputy Headmistress? There is something I have to discuss quite urgently," he spoke as politely as he could through clenched teeth.

The woman sighed and looked up at him. "I suppose we were finished anyway," she shrugged one shoulder. "But trust me, I'm leaving because I want to leave, not because you have something urgent to discuss. You can't impress me, Severus Snape. I remember you from school," the woman added and got up. She was short, yes, coming up to his chest only, but her words – struck something. She remembered him from school? Septima Vector? Didn't ring a bell.

He was no school boy anymore. He was no Death Eater anymore. He was a respectable teacher at a respectable school and if someone told him they'd remembered him from school – well, lucky them. He was nothing like the school boy anymore.

"Thank you," he ground out and watched as she left Minerva's office. Short. Chubby. Rude. Still, he sat for a moment in the chair she had just sat on and stared into space. Didn't remember her, that was for sure.

"She was a fourth year when you were in seventh year. Ravenclaw, Severus," Minerva helped but he, as he was pulled from his thoughts, only shook his head.

"Don't remember her."

"Ah well, be that as it may, what did bring you here? What is the matter of some urgency you have to discuss with me?"

Oh – that woman. She didn't even know why he was there. He would remain calm. He would remain very, very calm.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he thundered. "Giving the boy such stupid ideas that will undermine my authority? He's impressionable and if I take responsibility for him, he will be my responsibility!"

"Excuse me?" she asked calmly, despite his outburst.

"You know what I am talking about," said Snape, calmer now. "The list of rules?"

"Oh that," she chuckled. "It was all in good fun."

"In good fun?" he growled. "In good fun? No, not fun. Neither you nor your husband nor anyone else will interfere with my raising of the boy. All of you made me do it. All of you pressured me into keeping him and I will. And he will live with me under my rules. I will not tolerate you or anyone else trying to turn him into a prank-pulling, boasting, arrogant little Gryffindor twit!"

xx

The door suddenly opened and even though he was currently listening to a farmer who explained, in all boring detail, how to grow the perfect potato (Harry did not care about that at all but he couldn't do much else – he had promised his 'fesser), his attention was on the door and for a moment, Rhubarb's purring on his head stopped and he thought his 'fesser would be back outside. But in fact, it was a woman. She wasn't as tall as Minerva, maybe Poppy's height and had hair like that caramel toffee that Dudley had eaten even though Harry had longed for it and she looked nice and cuddly and had warm eyes and smiled at him.

"Well, hello there," said the woman.

"Hullo," Harry replied, smiling shyly himself.

"And who might you be?"

"I'm Harry and who are you?"

"I'm Septima Vector. Though you might want to call me Tima with that lisp of yours," she smiled and bent down a little, looking at him. Well, the lisp was stupid and Harry knew that his 'fesser didn't like it much either but he couldn't help it. And he couldn't just not say no words anymore that had an s in there. Not 'fesser, not even Professer (though that was too long and too tedious to speak when he needed something urgently from his 'fesser), not even Snape. Nothing! Everything had an s in there.

"Hullo Tima," he said though, glad that there was no s in there.

"Harry?" she asked, "Harry Who? What's your last name?"

He frowned. Why did she want to know? And where had she suddenly come from? And why was she staring at his forehead? Harry backed away a little but the woman just laughed. It didn't sound evil at all. It sounded warm and cosy and comfortable and nice.

"I'm a teacher here, Harry. I'm just wondering who you belong to and whether you got lost walking the corridors."

He shook his head. "I didn't get lost. My 'fesser is in there though I don't know what is in there and I promised I would wait for him here and I was talking to that farmer about potatoes and then you came out there. And my name is Harry Potter."

The woman made a weird noise then. And her mouth stood wide open and Harry thought that maybe, well, maybe she was just a little weird.

xx


	14. Chapter 14

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx  
**_

"Why are you looking at me like this?" asked Harry, a tiny bit afraid now.

"You're Harry Potter. And you live with Professor Snape?" the woman, Tima, asked.

He nodded shyly. "Yes," he whispered. This woman was odd.

"With Professor Snape? Severus Snape?"

"Yes. Why are you asking?" he asked, desperately wanting someone to come his way. It wasn't normal that people asked so many questions. And looked at him like that. Well, that wasn't quite so true. There had been one strangely looking man once, when he had been in the shop with Aunt Petunia who had looked at him the same way and then had bowed! Towards him. To him. Anyway, that funny looking man had bowed and had smiled at him after he had looked at him so strangely.

Harry knew somewhere deep down that it was stupid to panic, that he was inside a castle, that this was a teacher (or said she was a teacher) and that his 'fesser was only a door away. But unfortunately, his thoughts never reached that deeper level and all he could think of was – fleeing. Fleeing far far away. He only hoped that his 'fesser had not made those bouncy, gummy walls to keep him in place. He felt his eyes growing bigger and bigger. Sometimes, Aunt Petunia looked at him like that, he felt, just before she slapped his fingers or the back of his head or his bottom or somewhere. She looked at him like that when she thought he was lying. Or when Dudley had done something and she thought he had done it. It was curiosity but also some sort of evilness and mean-spiritedness. Even if Aunt Petunia's eyes were colder than ice and that woman's eyes were warm.

"Harry?" she asked carefully but he only heard her through some sort of – muffling noise, some kind of rushing in his ears. He had to run. Had to get away from this staring person. And now she even stepped closer and bent down. But he had promised his 'fesser to stay there and not run away. He didn't know what to do.

"Harry, you don't have to be afraid of me," the woman explained and this weird, muffled voice.

"Hairy Wee Harry, finally I find you!" he heard, muffled again, behind him and he knew that voice. It was Peeves! Peeves had come for him! His friend had noticed, somehow, he was scared and afraid and frightened and needed him. And he had come. The rushing sounds, the muffling, in his ears had stopped just as suddenly as it had begun.

"Peeves!" he exclaimed and turned around to face his friend. He wore something different today. Instead of the ugly pinstripe suit, he wore now knickerbockers held up by braces, and a white, frilly shirt, all in a foresty sort of green and a little hat on his head that looked like a bowl, only flatter. But this was brown, not green. He ran towards his friend and Peeves hovered just right so he was as tall as Harry. Actually, Peeves was a little smaller than Harry, sometimes. Sometimes, he was a little bigger. Today, he was just as tall and his feet only hovered a little over the ground.

"S'ptima. S'ptima. You could be a little thinner. You could lose a little weight or instead gain some more height," Peeves cackled.

"Peeves?" he heard another voice behind him and when he turned, he saw the sad lady-ghost again. She was very pretty but always so sad. Harry had asked her before but she had only sighed and had said nothing. Her voice was lovely as well. Always soft and sometimes, he thought that Peeves liked the voice as well because most of the time, he had listened to her and did, sometimes, what she said. But then again, he had only seen her for about half an hour before she had floated away. "Stop teasing dear Septima. We're glad to have her back."

"S'ptima, S'ptima, so chubby she'll never find a hubby," he sang. "Did you scare my friend Hairy Wee Harry? Wee Harry, did chubby S'ptima fwighten you?"

Harry wasn't sure what to think of all this. He had been scared – a little – then a Poltergeist and a Ghost had come to his rescue. And now his friend was insulting the woman. And that wasn't very nice at all. But before he could say something to Peeves, the sad ghost-lady had floated towards the woman who stared and glared at Peeves and had, he only saw that now, drawn her wand, pointing at Peeves.

"Septima, he does not mean it. You look lovelier than ever," the ghost-lady smiled and seemed to stroke the woman's cheek though Harry wasn't sure whether a ghost could actually touch someone. "I'm so glad you're back."

The woman smiled and for a moment, Harry was unsure, why he had been frightened. The woman, Tima, looked pretty herself when she smiled and it was a nice, honest smile, he could tell. Had nothing to do with those forced smiles that Aunt Petunia always gave people. "I'm glad to be back, Grey Lady," she said softly, still smiling. "And I'm surprised you remember me. Severus Snape didn't."

"I never forget one of mine, dear girl," the ghost-lady replied. "And Peeves is just Peeves. Thojugh he has changed somewhat in the last days."

"I can't see that," she grumbled.

"Peeves, what are they talking about?" asked Harry, confused.

"This and that young lad. This 'n that."

"That is not helpful!" Harry muttered.

"I'm afraid little Harry Potter was a bit afraid of me," the woman told the lady-ghost.

"Yes," she spoke slowly. "He would be. Young Harry carries a heavy burden inside and out. We will help him, Septima."

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"I don't understand either," Harry frowned. "What does she mean? Peeves? Tima, what does she mean?"

"I mean nothing, young Harry," the ghost smiled sadly at him. "But we must do what we can to help you and to save you. We weren't to know but we see. And us ghosts are not supposed to say a word we know but we do and you cannot be burdened with this. And there's always a little loophole. There's is always just a tiny little loophole."

Harry was very afraid again. What did that mean? He looked around wildly. It seemed like a dream what was happening to him. Couldn't his 'fesser hurry up and come to get him? At least the woman looked just as puzzled as he did and Peeves had stopped bouncing on the ground and instead, hovered before the ghost-lady, looking at her, becoming as transparent as the ghost.

"Beautiful Helena agrees?" he asked.

"She does," the ghost replied. "But we will have to find it first."

He couldn't stand it any longer. This was creepy and very, very scary. He didn't want to be in this corridor anymore. Not even with Peeves and the ghost-lady whom he knew. He couldn't help it. He knew there was one person who would take him away from this – from this – nightmare.

He let out a wail as loud and as strong as he could. "'fesser Snape!"

xx

He paced that office he remembered from before the time he had become a teacher. He remembered that office from his second week at Hogwarts and his very first detention. He knew this office, inside and out, probably. He knew this office probably better than anyone, except Minerva. And he paced. He paced backwards and forwards. From the window, overseeing the Quidditch pitch to the door, and back.

Had to digest what the woman was saying.

"Severus, this is not about you and me. This is about the boy. I suggested it because the rules because I thought it would be fun. And I suggested the rules because I thought that the boy would love to write down what he expects from you. I thought it could be a help for you. You wrote down rules with expectations and I wanted him to do the same. For a better understanding between you two. Yes, it was fun to see your face when you stormed in here but this wasn't just done to turn Harry into a Marauder. This is what you fear, innit?"

She waited. She waited for an answer but he was busy pacing. The boy, obviously, had written down what he expected of him.

Always paying attention.

Letting him ask question..

Take good care of him.

Never lying.

Never sending him away.

That was all he wanted. Nothing more. And he had already broken one rule. Well, maybe, he thought, he should see those items on that list as rules – but guidelines. Nevertheless, he had already lied to the boy. He hated lying. It was sometimes necessary, yes, and sometimes saying lives, yes, but in this case? He could have explained to the boy that he would tell Minerva what she had done and he...

He should explain an awful lot to the boy. It was high time, he thought, standing still in the middle of the room, to talk to the boy. He was obviously not completely dunderheaded. A bit, maybe, but on the whole, he had explained the entire rule-matter with smartness, Severus had not expected. Obviously got his brains not from his father.

"Severus?" Minerva asked and he slowly turned to face her. "If you absolutely loathe the idea of letting him stay with you, we can find a family. Albus is against it but if you can't because – well, you know why – we will find another way."

He growled. "Your husband said something else."

"Albus sometimes is too, ach, you know what he's like. He can be on his high horse and thinks he knows everything about everyone but he...listen, if you really can't, or don't want to, just say so, please," she looked at him, and in that moment, he knew why he had sometimes, as a younger teacher, had confided in her. She had that maternal look on her face without seeming too maternal. If that made sense. And she was the only one who could overrule Albus Dumbledore, the only one with a bit of power over him. "However," she continued, "I am under the impression that Harry wants to stay with you. He likes you a lot, Severus. Couldn't stop gushing about the fact how easy the rules were to follow and that you cuddled him when he couldn't sleep and was scared. But as I say, if you're unhappy, then we will find another solution."

He was embarrassed. Deeply, pink-eared embarrassed. The boy had told her that he had cuddled him? He had done nothing of the sort. Just... "I did not cuddle him," he choked out.

"That's the word he used, dear. Not mine. I don't see you as the cuddling type but I do see you as a consoling type."

He cleared his throat. Still embarrassed. "Honestly, Severus. Just tell me what...

"'fesser Snape!" there was a loud wail from outside. A wail that could only come from Harry. He had just left him outside. In a corridor he had left unprotected. Anyone could have walked past. Anyone could have...

He tore outside, drawing his wand before he even reached the door, Minerva, he noticed, hot on his heels. He didn't bother opening the door, merely have it snap open using his wand and met the strangest gathering of Hogwarts denizens imaginable. A future teacher, a Poltergeist, the Grey Lady and the boy, standing between all of those, obviously fighting tears. However, as soon as he saw him, he sprinted up to Severus and clung to his legs, hiding behind them.

"What happened," asked Minerva before he even had the chance.

"Little Harry Potter got scared," the Grey Lady replied dreamily and floated away.

"Peevesey didn't mean to scary Harry."

"I don't understand," the woman stuttered. "I was talking to him, asked him who he was, what he was doing there because it seemed unlikely that a little boy would come here and he looked like – well, his parents, and then Peeves showed up and the Grey Lady and she talked to me and then to Harry and said things that I don't really understand," even she was pale and wrung her hands in front of her abdomen.

"What did she say?" Snape asked coldly. "And why did you have to interrogate him?"

"I wasn't interrogating him, Snape. I was surprised when he told me who he was and naturally, I was curious. I always thought he lived with family. So I was merely surprised," she continued, a little calmer. "I realise now that maybe I shouldn't have but what was I expected to do? Leave a little boy alone roaming those corridors?"

"I didn't move, 'fesser. I didn't go anywhere, as I promised," Harry said softly behind him and to his own great astonishment, Severus let a hand descend on the boy's shoulder. "I'm good at keeping my promises."

Severus nodded. "And what made him wail as if in pain or terror?"

"The Grey Lady," she replied.

"Yes, beautiful Helena said something wee Harry shouldn't have heard," Peeves interrupted. "Was a thing between me and her. And someone else. And maybe his Headmastership. Not wee Harry. Wee Harry is burdened enough as it is. Shouldn't have heard beautiful Helena."

"I'm confused," Mienrva muttered. "Severus maybe you should give Harry some chocolate to calm down. Poppy is still with Horace but I doubt he needs the hospital wing. And Septima, why don't you tell me what she said. I wonder whether you will talk to me, Peeves?"

"No. Indeedy not. I cannot tell Deputy Headmistressship. Only me and beautiful Helena and maybe the Headmaster," he said, surprisingly clear. "But was never meant to scary wee Harry."

"Fine," Minerva said with an air of finality. Severus?"

"Yes," he nodded. "But I want to be informed."

"I'll come down later."

The woman turned around to face him. "I'll come down to the dungeons and tell you later, if you agree," she said softly, then faced the boy. "I'm sorry I scared you, Harry."

He felt the boy nod behind him and as he turned his head to look at him, he even saw a little smile on his lips. Severus grumbled. All that – excitement – because the boy had been scared by a ghost. Oh well. Minerva was right, though. A little chocolate and maybe he could make the boy take a nap. And that woman – that woman would come down to his...

No. "I will be in my lab later. That's across the potions classroom and is guarded by a portrait of John Pemberton," he explained. Woman didn't have to invade his private quarters at all.

"Fine," she smiled a little shakily. I will be down in an hour."

"Lovely," he drawled sarcastically and because the boy wouldn't move on his own, he guided him with his hand on his shoulder. Little fiend. Had yelled as if someone was taking him hostage. Or if Voldemort himself stood before him. And still, as he had heard him scream, he had rushed towards him – no, better not think about that.

They walked down the stairs in silence, the boy close to his legs, keeping contact. He knew he had to sit the boy down, and explain a thing or two. About this castle, about the world he had come into now.

It seemed, suddenly, quite irresponsible not to do it in the first place.

And Minerva – quite a change in her tune but he knew she had meant it. And on that moment, so quickly after her statement that it had seemed as if it had been planned by her or some other power, but he knew that it was too perfect, and his reaction too sudden to be constructed, planned. And Minerva could not have planned it because she had been just as spooked as he had been. Well, spooked was maybe the wrong word, and frightened was definitely the wrong word. Worried was the wrong word. He hated describing feelings. He couldn't. But it had been a weird drop of his stomach to lower, then higher regions of his body. He would have to think about this. Later.

"She was so creepy, sir," the boy whispered, his lisp stronger than before.

Severus sighed. "The ghost or the woman?"

"Both," he replied. "I thought the woman was only strange and asked so many questions. Well, not many questions but she looked at me like that one man did who was at the store once and who bowed then. And she asked about a hundred times after my name. Why did she look at me like that, 'fesser? And why did she ask what was my last name and why didn't she believe I was living with you?"

Again, Severus sighed. He had some talking to do.

xx

Harry sat rigid on the chair. His entire world had just been, well, turned upside down. His eyes were wide and he thought he was dreaming and he was slowly processing what his 'fesser had just told him – but it all seemed so – strange. And not true.

He had been quiet and he knew the 'fesser was glad for it. But it was so strange what he had told him. Quietly and gently. But he didn't understand at all.

"Your parents did not die in a car crash," he had said slowly and quietly. "There was a dark, evil wizard who disliked your parents and he killed them. He wanted to kill you too but you survived."

Harry had then wanted to ask why but somehow, no word had come forward. "Nobody knows why you survived but you did and at the same time, nobody knows why, you vanquished that dark, evil wizard. That is why people know you."

He had then wanted to ask more, wanted to ask how he had done it (though his 'fesser had explained that nobody knew), and why. But again, he had not been able to do so. His mouth had been glued shut. Just glued shut. And he had not been able to move. This was not true. But the 'fesser wouldn't lie at him, would he? Why should he?

"There's all there is to it. Your aunt was supposed to tell you this before," he had ended his little speech in that kind, quiet voice and the entire time, he had looked at Harry.

And so he sat. Quietly. People knew him because he had done – what? Because his parents had died not in a car crash. He didn't understand.

"You're probably too young to know," his 'fesser said calmly.

Harry then realised that he could shake his head. Just shake his head. His parents were dead and he was alive because some wizard had probably made a mistake, since nobody knew how it had happened. He was alone because some wizard wanted to kill him and had not managed it. "Why?" he asked suddenly.

"Which why?"

"Why," he stuttered a little, "did he want to kill me too? I never did anything. I was a baby then." He knew he was close to crying – again.

His 'fesser sighed and waited for a long time before he answered. "It is in the nature of evil beings to kill even innocent people."

"Why?" he asked, a tear tickling his cheek and he wiped it away angrily.

"There are many reasons."

"What was this one's reason? And what was his name?

"This one's reason was quite simply madness. He was insane. And his name was...," he seemed to swallow. "Lord Voldemort."

Harry felt himself nod and he was tired and exhausted and all that after that scary meeting. He just longed to scramble into bed with Rhubarb and cuddle his pet and maybe his 'fesser would maybe, probably, maybe, give him a little hug as well. "It's unfair," he muttered. "I don't want to be a wizard if wizards are that evil and just kill because they're mad," he continued, spluttering and plucked even Rhubarb from his head and sat him on the ground. "I don't want to have no parents. I want to have parents and a Mummy and I want to not be a wizard because..." he began to cry in earnest now. "It's so unfair."

"It is," his 'fesser said and he looked gently at him. "But you are a wizard and moaning about it won't help you."

"But I want to moan," he sobbed. "I want to..." he couldn't help himself and jumped from the chair, ran around the table and threw himself at his 'fesser, hugging the man fiercely. He knew it was not what he was supposed to do and he wasn't sure whether the 'fesser liked it or wanted it but he needed it somehow. And slowly, as he was crying against his 'fesser's robes, he felt the man's hands on his back and he was rubbing those circles again and quickly, Harry felt a little better.

xx


	15. Chapter 15

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx  
**_

"That's enough of that crying today," said Snape gruffly and plucked the boy from himself. "You're not a baby anymore, and crying won't bring back your parents." Twice on one day. That couldn't be. Snot on his robes again and if he used his own cleaning charm excessively, the material would wear thin after a while.

"But...," he looked at him pitifully.

"No but. It won't help," he said sternly, knowing that maybe, he should be taking a gentler route but he had used up all his gentleness when he had been rather kind as he had told him about his parents.

"Do you know what will help?" the boy sniffed.

"Yes," he said suddenly. "We'll brew. Well, I'll brew and you watch."

"Brew? Potions?"

"No, beer. Of course potions," he shook his head. Enough sentimentality. Even though – if Lily were alive...or if Lily could see him...or...tosh. Didn't make sense to think about that. He needed to get a grip and fast. Couldn't think too much about whether his raising Lily's son would meet her approval. However – one thing had the entire episode shown: the boy ran to him when he was afraid. And the boy was amazingly quick to start giggling after a fair few minutes of heart-wrenching (anyone else's heart, not his) sobs. And his beer-comment had, obviously done this trick.

"Do you have parents?" the boy asked, wiping his nose with his sleeve. Severus growled and summoned a handkerchief. Why did boys do that? He was sure he had never done it. Had always had a handkerchief somewhere. In his sleeve, where his mother had put it. He had hated it. The feeling of the then soggy handkerchief in his sleeve. And why was the boy asking about his parents. And why was an image of his mother popping into his head, smiling sadly and stroking his cheek just hours before she...?

"Everyone has parents," he explained as calmly as he could. "If you wanted to ask whether my parents are still alive, no, they're not."

"Are you a orphan then as well?" he asked, and Severus had to admit he was slightly puzzled by that question. Was he? He had been, well, after Mother had...or had considered himself one. No, he had not. He hadn't thought about it at all. And he had been 16 already by the time.

"I'm an adult. It's not called orphan when you're an adult," he replied though he wasn't sure of the answer himself.

"Why not?"

"Because...," he hesitated. He didn't know. He quite simply didn't know. "It's the way it is."

"It is still unfair."

"Yes, it is unfair. But blow your nose and we'll go to the lab," he said irritated. So many questions. And yes it was unfair that they were dead. If they were dead, he wouldn't be burdened with the child. On the other hand, if they weren't dead, Lily would probably still be married to Potter and he would have raised the child as a spoiled little brat. Something he would prevent from happening. Something he would not allow. Nobody would spoil the child. At all. Even if he came from less than ideal circumstances. It was no reason to heap gift over gift over gift on him. Though – the shopping of clothes had to be done. And while the books Albus (or Minerva – he wasn't sure anymore) had provided for the boy seemed sufficient at first, there were a few blatantly obvious gaps. Thoreau, for instance. Sun Tzu. Orwell. Dickens. Milton. All necessary reads. Even if they were Muggle. No less useful.

Yes, would take the boy to Muggle London, or maybe Muggle Somewhere to get clothes and books. Would make it so much simpler and people would not recognise him so quickly. And: maybe people in the Wizarding world would not recognise him quite as fast if he was dressed as a Muggle. Good idea.

He watched as the boy blew his nose, then shoved the handkerchief deep into the pocket of his black corduroy trousers and stood there, with a shaky smile. "Where is the lab?" he asked, blinking. "And what will we brew?" The boy paused, looking up with something in his green eyes that Severus had never seen before. "And why do people die?"

Severus sighed. It would be a long day.

xx

Minerva sighed as she unwarded the door to her and Albus's private quarters. She didn't understand what the Grey Lady had told Septima Vector. There was no rhyme, nor reason to it. Loopholes, burdens (outside and in), help. It made no sense. She hoped fervently that Peeves had talked to Albus already. Or that at least Albus would understand what Septima had said if she put the memory in a Pensieve. And she could look at it from another angle as well.

She rubbed her head tiredly, completely understanding why Harry had been scared like that. She'd be scared if someone talked to her that way without her knowing those beings. She wouldn't wail, of course, but she'd either hex, then ask, or go. Or maybe make a stern face and demand more answers. She shook her head, hoping her husband had answers for her. The next thing she did, however, was to dodge a flying object. Flew straight at her chest and she could only avoid being hit by jumping to the side, not even able to draw her wand.

Puzzled and shocked, she stared at the floor behind her. Someone had thrown a book at her.

"Albus?" she cried. "Did you throw a book at me?"

She heard faint mutterings from their library (well, it used to be their living room until Albus had moved all his books there) and then an angry growl. Carefully, Minerva stepped closer, only to be hit, this time on the thigh, with a large tome.

"Ouch," she exclaimed. "What in the name of Merlin's crooked teeth are you doing?"

"Looking for something," he replied, muffled and another book flew over his shoulder.

"Are you aware that that book just hit me?" she asked, more angry than amused at the sight of their former living room. Books scattered everywhere, the shelves half empty.

"Albus!" she cried. "Could you stop wildly pulling books from the shelves and throwing around and explain to me what you are doing?"

He turned around and his blue eyes met hers – icy cold and determined. Angry, maybe, even. "Looking for something," he repeated through clenched teeth.

"What are you looking for? And don't you dare throw that book. It's_ Semi-Inanimate Transfiguration_," Minerva threw one of her arms in the air as her favourite Transfiguration book went in the air as well. She pulled out her wand then, and let the book float gently into her waiting hand. "Albus," she growled. "Really, what is the matter?"

He spun around, then seemed to notice who she was and his face softened the tiniest bit. "I have information and I need to...find out. Could you possibly..."

"Peeves was here, wasn't he?" Minerva asked suspiciously. "He told you something."

"How do you know?" he asked, surprised.

"I don't know. I only know what Septima told me the Grey Lady told her," she huffed. "What did Peeves tell you?"

"What did the Grey Lady tell Septima?"

"The same she told Harry," she replied. "What did Peeves say?"

"I can't tell you," he answered. "I...have to find out things first and..."

"Albus!" she interrupted sharply. "What do you mean you can't tell me? I want to know."

"I can't," he argued.

"You mean you don't want to," she shouted. "Is it that again? That you want to protect me? Or pretending to? We made a promise to one another after...what happened to Lily and James. You promised you'd tell me things, Albus. You said so. You said the war was over and that you should have – should have, Albus! – shared more things with me. I can give you the memory and you can look at it in the Pensieve."

"I can't tell you yet, Minerva. Please, understand."

"I don't understand," she replied tiredly. "Fine. Fine. The Grey Lady said strange things about loopholes and that they shouldn't tell but would and that Harry was carrying a burden, inside and out. Happy now?"

"Yes, thank you," he smiled and that enraged Minerva only further.

"You're sleeping in here tonight," she huffed before she left the room. He would clam up again. Would not share things with her. Would keep all the secrets to himself and would, if the burden got to much, almost break again. She knew it. It had happened often before.

"I will, dear," he called after her, sticking his head through the open door. "But could you maybe invite Poppy and Horace for dinner tonight? Or maybe lunch tomorrow?"

xx

Oh, this was fun! There were small wormy things in front of him and his 'fesser had said to just hit them with this heavy, stoney thing and collect the goo that came out of them in a jar. It was so much fun, really! The goo was a greenish sort of colour. A nice green, to be honest, the kind of green from grass after a rain and before Uncle Vernon'd tell him to trim it or mow it. It was nice, Harry thought. And his 'fesser was talking about what they were doing (he was actually squishing dead and pickled Flobberworms and those his 'fesser would use for something he had called Strengthening Solution) and why it was important to have the potion in the castle (because apparently, his 'fesser said that sometimes students could be dunderheads and caught colds and they needed it afterwards) and as the space where Harry squished to little, pickled worms was next to the cauldron, he could sometimes see inside when his 'fesser added something new. It was absolutely fascinating and looked more real and wonderful than he had imagined when reading the book. And he liked being there, despite the fact that 'fesser Snape had not answered all his questions.

Yes, he knew that barely half an hour ago he hadn't wanted to be a wizard any longer but brewing looked like a lot of fun. Maybe, he thought, he would keep his being a wizard to this – brewing – and ignore all other magic. Because, well, brewing was fun. And squishing pickled wormy things was even more fun!

"That's enough," his 'fesser said suddenly, just a heartbeat after there was a knock on the door. "Can you put the rest of the pickled Flobberworms back in the jar?"

Harry nodded eagerly. He was allowed to do things, he was trusted to do it right and his 'fesser didn't even supervise him since he went to the door and opened it a crack. At first, Harry didn't look up but focused on the wormy things but when he heard a voice he had heard before, he did check who his 'fesser was talking to.

It was that woman. Tima. The one who had scared him and he remembered, faintly, that his 'fesser had said she should come down to talk about what had happened with the ghost-lady. His eyes met hers and before he could look away, he noticed that she smiled at him and he couldn't help but smile back a little shyly even though he still couldn't hear what his 'fesser and the woman were talking about. Must be really quiet, those two.

xx

The boy was in bed. The boy slept and there was a monitoring spell on him. It would alert him immediately if he woke up or something else. But now, he had something else to do.

Couldn't understand what that Vector-woman (and no, he still could not remember her) had told him what the Grey Lady had said. And Peeves. He cast a last look into the the boy's ridiculous room and rushed off, out of his rooms and up from the dungeons. If someone knew an answer, it was the Headmaster. Maybe he had heard something, maybe he knew things and could enlighten him. He was up in front of Albus's office in not quite record-time and said "Chocolate Limes" to a disgruntled looking Gargoyle.

"I could let you up," it replied. "But nobody's up there."

Severus groaned and muttered "Nevermind" before he took off to the Dumbledore's private quarters. It wasn't far, luckily (because, well, what if the boy woke up and wrecked havoc on his living room?), and as he arrived, he knocked impatiently.

It took a moment, a long, long, foot-tapping moment before the door opened and a disgruntled, angry looking Minerva nodded at him. She had, as it was often the case later in the evenings, undone her bone and wore her hair loosely braided, her robes unbuttoned with a skirt and a blouse showing underneath.

"Come in," she muttered.

"And?" he asked, impatiently.

"And what?"

"And what was this all about?"

To his great surprise, Minerva shrugged on shoulder and pointed towards their living room/library. He wasn't that familiar with their private quarters but he had spent some evenings there in the past. "You ask him. Maybe you'll be luckier," she huffed.

"Excuse me?" Severus was confused.

"Go and ask him. He's in there," she pointed towards the living room/library again. "Let me know if you find out more than 'I can't tell you but please invite Poppy and Horace.'"

He arched his eyebrows and nevertheless strode past her, inside the room. It was scattered with books, lying around openly on the ground, on every available surface and the shelves seemed empty. "Be careful you're not hit with one," he heard Minerva behind him.

"Albus?" Snape asked the old man, bent over a book carefully.

"Ah, my boy," Albus looked barely up. "I'm sorry I can't talk right now. There's some rather pressing..."

"I'd like to know what this entire business with the Grey Lady and Peeves meant," Severus interrupted.

"I can't tell you," Dumbledore looked up for a moment and saw him standing there, Minerva, obviously, still behind him. "Minerva, dear, have you invited Poppy and Horace?"

She seemed to nod.

"Good, good. When will they come?"

"Tomorrow at lunch," she grumbled.

"What. Was. This. About?" Severus asked again, trying not to lose his patience.

"I cannot tell you, Severus. Not yet. There are too many things I don't know yet myself. But Horace might be able to help," he replied, his nose back in the book.

"You will tell me now," he ground out.

"I can't," Albus Dumbledore looked up again and slowly stood up, stretching slightly. "Please Severus, Minerva, not yet. I need to have my suspicions confirmed and need to read up. Now if you'd both be so kind as to leave me to my research?" he asked in the tone that bore no room for argument.

"Come on, Severus. I'll make us a cup of tea," Minerva tugged on the back of his robes. "Did you leave Harry all alone?"

"Monitoring spell," he replied absently, his eyes still on the Headmaster. It was typical. Keeping things to himself, never telling anyone about anything and Severus felt the anger boil inside of him. That boy was his responsibility. And he had a right to know what the Grey Lady had meant. And what Peeves had meant. He had to know. If it had something to do with the Prophecy or with the Dark Lord, he had to know. He knew the ropes, the rules better than anyone. He could...he felt Minerva pulling him backwards and fought against it.

"Severus, please," the Headmaster looked sternly at him, no twinkle in his eyes. "I need to do my work. If you so kindly just drink a cup of tea with my wife and then go to bed, I'd be very much obliged. This is not yet something I wish to tell you. If I have enough evidence of my suspicions, I will." And with that and a flick of Dumbledore's hand, he felt himself shoved out of the living room and saw the door closing, lighting up in a pinkish sort of colour as wards fell over it.

"He will sleep in there tonight," he heard Minerva mutter.

"He didn't say anything, did he?" Severus's tone grew louder. "Not to you?"

"Not a word," she replied, calm but a little sadly. "Thought this was going to change but apparently...no."

"He can't do it."

"You know he will," she smiled tiredly. "Now would you like a cup?"

He nodded angrily. "Who does he think he is anyway? He tells me I have to take care of the boy and now that there might be something which could endanger the boy, which he pressed upon me, I'm not to know? I'm only again the idiot who takes orders? Not this time. Not this time. And if I have to pour Veritaserum down Peeves's throat."

"That won't help," Minerva muttered darkly. "I already checked. Poltergeists are immune to any kind of potion."

"You-you checked?" Severus stuttered.

"Do you actually believe I don't want to know what might be a danger to Harry?" she asked and as she let a cup of tea float towards him, she stared at him challengingly.

xx


	16. Chapter 16

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx  
**_

Nobody, Minerva knew, could get a word out of Albus when he was like that. It wasn't the first time that he had acted this way and she truly disliked it. It made her feel – well – that much was obvious but she felt horribly out of the loop, left out. Didn't feel at all as if she was married to him anymore. And worse, she felt as if he didn't trust her at all. And maybe he didn't. Maybe he just didn't trust her enough with the important things, the life altering things. It had happened so often before that she had felt like this and it hurt.

It just hurt and the bed had been huge without him and his annoying snores and his hair and beard getting everywhere and his feet warm and his arm around her. But he had deserved to sleep in the living room on the couch. Even though Minerva truly doubted her had slept at all. She could spot a Refreshening Charm on the face from about two miles away, after all, she had invented it and used it more often than him.

And then he had barely said a word to her that morning, only asked to confirm that Poppy and Horace were coming to lunch (and yes, they were), then had vanished off somewhere, leaving her alone in their rooms, with a room full of stray books, so to speak, to tidy and a lunch to prepare. It was in moments like these when she hated being his wife. When she hated being married to Albus Dumbledore. When she was nothing more than the woman who cleaned up his mess. It was in moments like these when she almost, but really only almost, forgot that she loved him more than anything in the world. It was in moments like this these when she wanted to leave and leave him to do whatever it was he wasn't telling her. She knew she would never. She was meant to be with him, be his strength and stay. Even if it hurt. She'd still find out what he was so vigorously researching and what secret he was so vigorously protecting eventually.

Even if it was after everything had happened.

It was one of those truly infuriating things he did though – the carefully concealing of everything he had read – that made her almost leave that place and leave him to lunch with Poppy and Horace alone. Oh but she couldn't. Had to report what she heard, what she suspected, to Severus. Had promised the boy.

And then, Minerva smiled as she waved her wand to place the books back to the shelves. Severus, despite all his gruffness, despite never answering her question explicitly, had explained, in all detail, with only his eyes and actions and no words, that he truly did want to take care of the boy, wanted to let him stay with him, wanted to raise him, wanted to be a father figure. He'd probably stone her, yes, if she ever said as much, but that was Severus. He was that way. Keeping quiet about the good things he did. That was Severus in all his glory. He would grow to love the boy if he didn't already. Of that, she was sure. And she'd listen carefully to what Albus said to Horace (or what hints they gave since she did not doubt for a moment that they'd want to talk in private) and afterwards, maybe, ask Poppy about it as well. She'd find out – just because she and especially Severus were entitled to find out.

"Minerva, where are you?" she suddenly heard, putting the unused parchment away.

"In here, Albus," she replied, coldly. Oh he had another thing coming if he still remained quite so mysterious and untrusting. He'd get a speech and a hex if he remained quiet.

"Ah, there you are," he smiled, the Refreshening Charm on his face glowing, and even though she took a step back, he came towards her and kissed her on the cheek. "I'm sorry I kept you waiting so long. There was a book I needed to consult in the library."

"Who would've thought," she muttered, looking at him with arched eyebrows. "Do you want to tell me now what this is all about?"

"I'm sorry, darling. I can't yet," he waved her off. "Have you told the elves about..."

She was close, very close in that moment to exploding. She could feel the acid in her stomach bubbling over, threatening with heartburn and gastritis as she glared at him. "Yes," she snapped. "I have told the elves about lunch." She wanted to leave in that moment. Wanted to, well, maybe go exploring with Harry again. But she knew that if she went, she wouldn't find out anything. And that would help nobody. Still... "You might as well employ a housekeeper, husband," she sneered, almost like Severus, "she'd do the same job I do. And she wouldn't even bother with questions."

He sighed dramatically. "Minerva, please. Not that again. I cannot tell you at the moment because I am, at the moment, unsure whether there is anything at all to tell. And I gave Peeves my word to remain silent until I knew what was going on."

"You gave Peeves your word?" she cried. "You gave _me_ your word years ago to trust me, to confide in me. And what are you doing? The exact opposite. I can't believe you." Shaking her head, annoyed, angry, sad, disappointed, she left him standing, stopping only at the door to look over her shoulder. "They will be here in about half an hour."

xx

Harry smiled contentedly. The 'fesser had explained that the stupid ghost-lady was a little gaga and not to be taken seriously. And judging by what that gaga lady-ghost had said, his 'fesser was, as always right. Why else would she want to be a ghost anyway and not, as Peeves a Poltergeist. He had to ask after the differences anyhow. Didn't quite get it. And so, his 'fesser had added another rule to the list (and the one he had written was still hanging there!). Not to believe in what ghosts told him. He was really okay with that rule. More than okay, actually. The ghost-lady had only talked rubbish anyhow and if his 'fesser said that it was not to be taken seriously, then he believed his 'fesser and not some stupid ghost. Of course Peeves was an exception but Peeves had not said so much. And then his 'fesser had said something like 'keeping you out of trouble' and had taken him to that fabulous lab again. He couldn't squish any wormy things today because they weren't needed, he had said, but instead there were some sort of snail shells and his 'fesser had put them in a large stone pot and he had told him to make them small with a stone-thingy. And it was a miracle really, because when the snail-shell-things got really, really small and tiny and powdery, the colour turned from brown to a bright red and Harry liked it and worked very quickly and very small and tried to catch the exact moment when the snail shell-thingies turned from brown to red but it was always too quick for his eyes. One second it was brown, the next red. Astonishing.

And really, something like that made magic really cool. The wand and all could truly get lost but snail-shell-thingies that turned from brown to red in an instant was amazing. And that he wanted to do. Maybe he didn't have to do that silly waving around with the wand and would only ever do this.

Or maybe – well – his 'fesser had said that this was a school but his 'fesser had also said that he had to be older to go there. And actually, he was wondering about this. Wouldn't he go to school now? He hadn't yet asked his 'fesser yet because, honestly, so far, he hadn't liked school much. Dudley and his friends were always there and when Dudley was ill, he had to stay at home as well. There had always been someone who had disturbed him while learning and he was bad with numbers and not so good with reading. He could read, yes, but not aloud. Dudley had done this one thing, every time when Miss Trask had asked Harry to read out loud. He had cried. Dudley had cried or screamed or there had been a bee in the room (even if it was the middle of winter) and with that, he had interrupted Harry's reading. And Miss Trask had always paid attention to Dudley and he had made a fuss so long until the teacher had forgotten that it had been Harry's turn to read. He could read okay on his own and silently. But not aloud. Just not aloud. And his 'fesser hadn't found that out yet but he would and that would be embarrassing. So maybe, it was better the 'fesser forgot about school. But...he couldn't let him forget about it.

At least he had to know the numbers and doing maths and when his 'fesser looked at him and even stood behind him as he smashed the snail-shell-thingies and Harry looked up between two smashes.

"Is that okay?" Harry asked shyly. Maybe he had done it too finely.

"Yes, it's alright," his 'fesser said and Harry beamed. But again, he looked in Harry's eyes and felt as if his 'fesser was looking for something in his own eyes.

"You will go to school," he said suddenly and Harry's eyes grew bigger.

"Can you read my mind, sir?" he asked timidly and his 'fesser shook his head immediately.

"Your face is an open book," he replied instead. But how could the 'fesser know that he had been thinking about school? "However," he continued, "you will not be going to a regular school. You will be taught by a woman named Augusta Longbottom. Mrs Longbottom to you, together with only two or three other children. I have made arrangements with her to meet her in a week. Until then, I'd like to test your ability to read and do maths."

"B-bu-but...," Harry stuttered. Just the thing he had been thinking about. He couldn't read aloud. He couldn't. And maths was bad. Really bad. He shook his head viciously, looking at the 'fesser's chest. "No. No."

"Why not?" 'fesser Snape asked and Harry only saw how he raised his wand and how, a moment later, a book sailed through the air.

xx

Severus wasn't sure what to make of this. The boy had read without problems before. He had explained all he had read in the Potions book, had summarised it almost perfectly and now he was afraid of reading for him? Augusta Longbottom, had agreed to teach the boy together with her grandson, Minerva's doing, really. But the best alternative, Augusta Longbottom had, at least, experience with children. And the boy would be together with at least one other boy his age and Severus did not have to worry about teaching him. From what he had heard, Mrs Longbottom was rather strict. And that was just as well.

"Here," he said shoving the book, A Guide to Potions, what he had read before into his hands. "Read," he said sternly and watched how the boy looked up fearfully, his hands just shaking a little. He had caught memories of schooling, the idiot Dursley boy crying at school but apparently not everything the boy had thought about.

Instead, the boy took a shaky breath and bit his lip before he opened the book at a random page.

"P-oooootioons," he began slowly and very hesitantly, "sh-sh-should nooot beeee mi-xed with, erm, eachother."

"There is no need to be nervous," he said as gently as he could.

"I'm not nervous, sir," he looked up from the book and said so without a hint of nervousness. "I, erm, Dudley was always...I couldn't be better at school than Dudley and he didn't like me and when it was my turn to read, he always made sure Miss Trask forgot that she'd picked me and I never had to read out loud."

Severus shook his head. Had heard of children having difficulties reading but not out loud but rather reading in general. The boy could read, he knew but had obviously difficulties saying the words. He would have to remedy that. Before he began schooling with Mrs Longbottom. Still shaking his head, he took the book from the boy's hands and send it flying back to the desk it had been lying on and summoned the recipe for the Wound-Cleaning Potion the Mediwitch would, undoubtedly, need in abundance as soon as the term began again.

He gave it to the boy. "So far, I've added the chamomile to the lavender and extract of marigold and you crushed the royal purple rock snails. What next?" he asked snidely and waited as the boy skimmed over the text. "And read. Not summarise. I want the exact recipe."

xx

She fumed. Not quite literally though maybe close to it. He had just – argh – whisked Horace Slughorn away and had left her to sit with Poppy. She liked Poppy, yes. But she was even more interested in what the two men were talking about. And of that, she hadn't heard a single word. No single syllable. Nothing. The last thing she had heard was her husband, her dear, loved, wonderful, thoughtful husband complimenting Horace on that dreadful waistcoat he was wearing. But only Albus could like asps in a basket on a waistcoat. And besides, Horace was – loud, rambunctious, outspoken, noisy. Everything she disliked when she ate. And no man, in fact no one, should tuck the napkin into the shirt. There were spells for that sort of thing. She had disliked Horace when he had been a teacher there, and she still did. Even if he was now the – partner – of her friend.

"What do you see in him?" she asked, unable to stop herself.

"What?" Poppy asked, putting down her cup of coffee.

"What do you see in him? We've all known him for years, or rather decades and suddenly, last year, you come up with, 'he's my partner'."

"I...love him," Poppy shook her head. "I don't understand why you bring that up now? Have you and Albus had a row?"

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"If you are, I know why you're asking me that. You don't want to think about your life and so you turn your fire, so to speak, to mine. You've never asked before when you could have."

Minerva sighed. Yes. It was one of her tactics. Ignoring her own problems and focusing on others. "I've never really seen you together before. The odd dinner around here, but never this privately." They had behaved, both of them together, rather sweetly though, she had to admit that. Horace had paid attention when Poppy spoke and vice versa – and there had been a glimmer in her friend's eye she had not seen before.

"I love him, Minerva. I've loved him for years and I couldn't do anything with him being an instructor here. Not everyone is like you. When I'm with a man, I want to be with him. I want to go out with him and not pretend that I'm an old spinster."

"I'm not doing that," Minerva argued.

"Yes, you are. Who apart from so few select people know about you and Albus? Eh? How many? And you're lucky that nobody has leaked it to the Daily Prophet yet," the Mediwitch said angrily.

"You wouldn't," Minerva paled.

"No, I wouldn't. But let me enjoy being with him when we waited such a long time to get it together. I see in him my future. We might not have long together but it's the quality that counts and not the quantity of time. I don't want to sit next to him in front of an entire school of children and pretend that I'm nothing more than his best friend."

"Poppy...I didn't mean it like that," she sighed and tried to take her friend's hand.

"No, you get off your high horse," Poppy explained viciously. "How can you ask what I see in him? He's lovely. That's what I see in him. He's the man I want to be with. Even if we're both old and well past our prime," she got up quickly and glared at Minerva. "If you'd be so inclined to tell Horace that I'll be waiting for him in the Hospital Wing."

"Poppy stop. I didn't mean it like that."

"Yes, you did," she cried. "I know you did. For years, Minerva, for years you have been telling me to find myself a husband or a man or whatever. For years! You told me that it'd be good for me to come home to someone and share what I did all day long. You told me having a husband was nice. You urged me to find one and now I have found someone and you ask what I see in him. More than a year after we've gotten together. I can't believe you," she stormed out, banging the door, leaving Minerva to shake her head. She had not expected, had not wanted this. She wanted, for a moment, to bang her head against the table, or any nearby wall, and just...sometimes she was just too forward. She had grown so old already and still didn't know when to keep her gob shut.

She waved her wand over the table, sending everything on it to the kitchen when she heard a kind of shout from the study Albus and Horace Slughorn had gone into and a moment later, she had her wand pointed at the door, the large former Potions Master stormed out, his face bright red.

"I do not know, what you're talking about," he almost shrieked and just as Poppy had done, not even a minute ago, he all but ran out of their quarters.

"Don't ask," Albus said immediately after the door went shut with a bang and shook his head at Minerva. "I will explain. In due time, I think."

xx

"Add...the...pow-dered...shells...of...the...roya-ahl...pruple...sorry, purple...rohck...snehls...snails...and...steer...stir... five...teen...times," he read slowly, his finger slowly dragging along the line. It was hard to read like this but then again, his 'fesser had made it so, that Harry wasn't only reading stupid stuff for the sake of reading. No, he was reading instructions to his 'fesser so his 'fesser could brew the potion. A potion that would clean wounds. That was actually another good idea. Wound cleaning was important, he knew. He had fallen on his knees once and the left one had begun to bleed but it had been dirty at the same time and a few days later, there had been whitish-greenish stuff, coming from where the knee had bled. And Aunt Petunia had then scolded him and had told him never to fall into dirt again. As if that had been his idea in the first place.

But Harry felt incredibly useful. He sat, well, perched, on a wobbly stool, observing what his 'fesser was doing and reading to him and as he read, his 'fesser did what he told him to do. It was truly awesome. He liked reading out loud that way. It wasn't quite so senseless.

"And then?" his 'fesser asked.

"Add...theee...mmm...I can't read that word, 'fesser," he stuttered and he looked over immediately.

"Myrrh," he said gently, looking in his eyes again before he turned back to the cauldron.

"Add the myrrh and...let it... simmer...for...twenty...line...two...hours," he read proudly and fell then almost off his stool as the door to the lab opened quickly and Minerva rushed in, her ears pink and her hair a little bit messy.

"I cannot believe that sodding...oh...hello Harry."

xx


	17. Chapter 17

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx  
**_

It was silent. Very, very silent. However, that silence only lasted for about ten seconds, maybe fifteen in which Severus stared at Minerva. The woman was, clearly, distressed, annoyed, angry. Not a very good combination when it came to Gryffindors. And an even worse combination in a Gryffindor when said Gryffindor stood in his lab. Surrounded by potentially dangerous ingredients and bubbling potions in cauldrons. He had known Minerva since he was eleven. Eleven and a tiny, skinny little Slytherin. Had been a little afraid of her in the beginning but by now, he knew there was little that could make her look, feel, probably that way.

He waved his wand, still in silence, and a door appeared at the far wall of the lab. He fixed his eyes on the boy and the child, who had apparently all this time stared in shock at him and Minerva alternately, looked at him questioningly.

"Please bring Moste Potente Potions from the living room. It's in the shelf nearest to the door to the bathroom," he explained, knowing it would take the boy a few minutes to locate it, squashed, as it was, between two huge tomes about fungi.

"'kay, sir," he nodded and bounced, almost happily, it seemed, through the door where Severus had pointed. In the meantime, he conjured a chair and gestured for Minerva to sit.

"I'd like it very much," he began silkily, "if you could refrain from swearing and cursing in the presence of the boy. I'll have to tell him afterwards not to use those words and we could all just avoid the strain, couldn't we?"

She shook her head tiredly. "I know. It's just that...that awful, horrible man. I don't remember why I married him in the first place. He's...argh."

"As much as I am interested in your marital bliss, Deputy Headmistress," he drawled, getting annoyed as well, "I do wonder whether you came here solely to discuss that bliss."

"You know very well I didn't," she replied gruffly. "He's gone."

"Gone?" Severus asked, interest piqued.

"Gone. And before you ask, no, I don't know why and I don't know where. We had lunch with Poppy Pomfrey and Horace Slughorn and apparently Horace knows something about whatever it is, or so Albus suspects, I suspect, and he took him into his study and no two minutes later, Horace comes out, red as a beetroot, fuming, it's a miracle there was no froth on the mouth involved, storms out of our rooms, yells, and is gone. I tried to talk to Albus but he didn't even listen and instead went to get his travelling cloak and apparated. Straight from out quarters."

"The pleasures of being Headmaster," Severus sighed.

"Indeed. And I don't know where he's gone. I don't know when he will return, I don't know anything," she sighed. "The last time he was like that, all secretive and disappearing was when...you know."

"Hmph," Severus nodded, the feeling of impending doom somehow, somewhere, looming over his head. Dreading the moment when this could become reality again. Fearing it, almost, to be honest.

"But it can't be that. We would have heard, surely," she argued, her tone gentler than before, "And I doubt Horace Slughorn would be of any help when it came to that. Bloody bugger..."

"Minerva," he said threateningly.

"What? He's not here," she grinned a little at him and Severus suspected – he had known her for a long time after all – that this was the new thing she would do to rile him up. Well, let her, he thought. He would bring the boy to Minerva if he began swearing like a sailor. Let her deal with it.

"Anyway" she continued, "Slughorn did not leave Hogwarts once during, you know, you-know-who's time of terror. He stayed here. The entire time and to think that he probably..." her eyes grew wide and her face pale.

"What?" he asked, curious and impatient.

"I was at school with you-know-who," she said slowly. "Two years above him. Albus asked me time and time again about him but all I knew was that he was a terrible charmer. Very charismatic but I was older, and in Gryffindor and I never paid much mind to Slytherin. They were even more...let's just say that the Slytherins kept to themselves and friendships between anyone and a Slytherin were frowned upon. So before you ask, no, I didn't know him well. But Horace would. Horace was his Head of House. He would have gone to Horace with every question he had, every problem..."

"I doubt he would have gone to anyone with his problems," Severus interjected.

"True," she pulled her lower lip between her teeth and began to chew on it nervously. "But if there was anything...Merlin, Severus, you know what Slughorn was like to his treasured ones. To his club. And I remember that Tom Riddle was one of them. I wasn't. Much too boring for that. But if Albus suspects Slughorn to know something about him that could be...he always says he doesn't think he's quite dead yet. Severus, if there is something keeping him in any kind of spirit form...or in any world in between, you never know what happened that night...and if Horace knew something..."

"Minerva," Severus groaned. It was all very nice, her speculating about things but he wasn't sure he liked it. In fact, it made shivers run down his spine. However, yes, Albus had said, time and time again, that he did not believe the Dark Lord to be quite dead. And Minerva had a point there. If he wasn't dead – but wasn't quite alive – what would he be? Where would he be? And...

"Hello," the boy bounced back into the lab, holding the book in his hands. "I found it. It was really hard to find it because it was sort of hidden. But I did. And I didn't even fall off the chair though it was wobbly and I couldn't reach it because...why are you looking like that?" he asked, as Minerva gaped at him open-mouthed. Bloody Gryffindor. Always so – obvious.

"Bedtime is at eight," he said quietly to the staring, gaping woman, who was, he suspected, not staring and gaping because of the boy only. "And what did I tell you," he turned to the boy, "about standing on chairs?"

"But it was the only way to get the book, 'fesser. I'm too little to reach it. It was high up. And you told me to get it," he argued.

Severus huffed. He truly disliked it when the boy was being logical. "You should have called me," he answered instead.

"I will next time," the boy replied brightly. "Is there something else we will brew now? I can read the recipe for you if you like. It was fun before. And why is she still looking like that?"

"It seems," Severus drawled, smirking of course, "that Professor McGonagall is a little..."

"Is a little nothing, Severus," she interrupted sharply, snapping out of her gaping and staring. "What nice things were you brewing?"

"Erm," the boy thought, "I think something called Pepper Up and then Wound Cleaning Potion. Just before you came in. My 'fesser said that the dunderheaded students will need a lot of it because they will always fall off their brooms and down stairs. Why would they fall off brooms? How can you fall off a broom, Minerva?"

My 'fesser? Severus shoved a finger in his ear and wriggled. Must have been a build-up of earwax. Something that made him hear things. My 'fesser? He had, grudgingly, for the time being accepted that he was 'fesser and not Professor Snape. But HIS 'fesser? That sounded almost like an honorary title. Something like 'my uncle', 'my...father'. He had misheard that and he clearly misheard the chuckle coming from Minerva.

"Severus, your hearing is fine," she remarked. "It is indeed that possessive pronoun. Very clear, if you ask me," she grinned, then looked at the boy, "hasn't _your_ 'fesser told you about flying yet?"

The boy shook his head. "Flying?"

"On brooms," she said quietly as if she was telling a secret. "We fly on brooms."

"Really?"

"Really," she smirked. "And I'm sure _your_ 'fesser will take you if you ask nicely."

"Will you, 'fesser?" he asked, bouncing on his feet, jumping up and down.

"We'll see," he answered gruffly. "Open the book on page three-hundred and fourteen."

The boy nodded, thumbed through the book.

"Well, bedtime is at eight," Minerva said softly to him as she got up. "Good bye, Harry, see you at dinner later!"

The boy nodded, smiling, his nose only briefly out of the book before he perched on his stool again and slowly, as Minerva left, began to read.

xx

Rhubarb was sitting, quietly and happily on his bed when Harry returned to his room from brewing. It was close to dinner and Harry was hungry hungry hungry. True, his 'fesser had somehow, when Harry had gone to fetch the dandelion juice from the cool, very cool potions stores, brought a sandwich in and pumpkin juice. Harry felt actually a little proud. His 'fesser had been all gruff and grumbly but he had sent Harry to the store-cupboard anyhow. Had explained what the dandelion juice looked like, where it stood and the he could reach it without standing on any chairs or stools or the ladder. Oh but the ladder had looked so interesting and he didn't doubt that it was needed, as high as the store-cupboard was. So high. If Harry multiplied himself and one Harry stood on the head of the next Harry, and then the next, there would have been room for about twelve or fourteen or maybe twenty. Easily. And someday soon, Harry smirked, he would have to remember what stood on the top, and then ask his 'fesser to get that. Or to brew something like that. And then he could climb on that ladder.

But despite the sandwich and the pumpkin juice, he was hungry and he felt truly lucky that there was dinner soon. Only time enough, he thought, to tell Rhubarb what he had done the whole day long when Rhubarb couldn't go to the lab with them. Poor Rhubarb. But it was maybe for the best. He didn't want his Puffskein to fall into a cauldron or get lost somewhere.

"Hey there," he whispered softly and picked up his pet which seemed to like and which seemed to somehow mould into his arms and press himself closer to Harry. "We brewed all day long and I really think I need a bath after dinner. My hair is a little icky from the fumes but my 'fesser said it is all normal and that I should bathe every night after brewing. And then he found out that I cannot read out loud well and he made me read the instructions to the potions we were brewing out loud. And it got better then more I read but there are some words that I didn't know. He didn't mind. He told me all the words, and let me say them and he said I'd learn to write them too soon and he didn't once say that he thinks I'm stupid. I don't think he thinks I'm stupid, really. He doesn't look at me like I am, you know? Like Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon did. They always thought I was stupid and didn't realise that Dudders was much more stupider than me. I'm glad I'm with my 'fesser now. He listened to me while I was reading the instructions and then did what I was telling him to do. Can you imagine that? A grown-up doing as I say," he sighed and sat down on the floor, cuddling Rhubarb against his chest still. He was warm and cuddly and lovely to hold and purred again and in all honesty, Harry almost felt like purring himself, he was that comfortable. It was just lovely to sit there with his pet, his very own pet, something he had not even dared to dream about a few weeks – pah, a few days – back and could tell his Rhubarb all that he wanted to tell him. And nobody would scold him for just sitting and talking.

"Oh Rhubarb, it was a lovely day. But my 'fesser said I need to go to school soon. I wonder if I can take you with me. Maybe I can ask. Other children don't like me much. Or they didn't like me while I was at my school and if I have you with me, I'm not that frightened. Or maybe my 'fesser will tell them if they bully me, he'll come. That would be good. Everyone is scared of him, except Minerva but I don't think Minerva is scared of anything. Maybe I can ask both of them to come with me when I'm scared, what do you think?"

Rhubarb purred simply and with his long tongue, licked Harry's cheek affectionately.

"Stop, that tickles! Oh, I think I need to go to the loo," he explained and after cuddling Rhubarb tightly to his chest a moment longer, he put him on his head and stood up, walking in socks over his grassy floor and towards the bathroom. He didn't think about it. His 'fesser let him go to the bathroom whenever he wanted to go. He pushed the door to the bathroom open and only heard now that there was water running inside. And his 'fesser had made the bathtub into a shower and was standing underneath it, humming!

His 'fesser was humming in the shower!

He didn't know the song but it sounded awesome. He still couldn't stop the giggle from escaping his throat and it was only then that his 'fesser seemed to realise that he was standing the bathroom as well.

"Out!" he growled.

"I needed the loo, 'fesser," Harry said earnestly, not afraid. Even though the voice did sound a little frightening. But his 'fesser was naked and humming (well, not anymore) underneath a spray of water. He wouldn't do anything.

"I'm rebuilding those rooms," he muttered. "Now, out."

Harry only saw the outline of his 'fesser since he was completely hidden by the shower curtain and he still giggled. The humming had been nice.

"Potter!"

"Don't call me Potter," he complained. "You never call me Harry."

"Harry, please leave the bathroom," his 'fesser said, growlingly, then stuck his head out between the wall and the shower curtain and Harry had to giggle even more. His 'fesser always had his hair hanging over his ears and face and now it was full of shampoo and pulled upwards. It looked like one of those hairstyles that the teenagers in town had. The ones that Aunt Petunia always avoided looking at because she said they were lowly and disgusting. It stood straight up. His 'fesser's long hair stood straight up and was white and looked very, very funny.

"Harry!" his 'fesser snapped and this time, it sounded as if he was really angry.

"But I need the loo," Harry complained again.

"If you leave the bathroom and let me finish the shower, you can use the loo. And the sooner you get out of here, the sooner I'm finished and the sooner you can use the loo," he almost shouted by now.

Harry shrunk back a little, even though...truly, if his 'fesser had worn those robes and had his head normal, he would have been really scared. But such as it was, with a flat chest with a few black hairs on it and his hair up, it just looked funny. Nevertheless, Harry had the good sense to leave then, even though he still giggled.

xx

How extraordinarily embarrassing. How sublimely, supremely...awkward. He wasn't used to locking the door to the bathroom. So far, nobody had ever...and he wasn't used to the boy yet. Wasn't used to the boy living there and walking in. And – he had just – he knew he had hummed. He knew he had washed his hair. He had been in a good mood. Didn't know why but he had been. It hadn't been as bad as he had pictured it with the boy in his lab. He had been well-behaved and did as he was told. Quite nice, that, actually. Almost like a little assistant. Well, that was a bit far-fetched but he had been rather more well-behaved than he had expected any child of James Potter could be. He was like Lily when he was so inquisitive and so curious. Not quite as vivacious as she had been, actually, rather quiet and calm and well, but he had walked into him at the bathroom. And that had made him, well, angry. Boy had not seen much but he had wondered, for a brief moment and then a moment longer, whether the boy would now respect him less. Now that he had seen him this, well, naked. And with the shampoo in his hair. After dinner, it was clear that he wouldn't have needed to wonder at all.

The boy was still smiling at him, still doing, almost exactly what he told him to do and when Severus had brought him to his room and had pointed at the bed, he had even hugged him again. So, definitely nothing had changed. Apart from him being embarrassed. Though, why should he be? It wasn't as if the boy wasn't aware that he was showering, or being a human being at all. The boy accepted this, the boy, truly, liked him.

And he didn't even need Legilimency to see that. It was plain and clear and Severus, then, upon seeing the boy cuddling his Puffskein in his bed, felt somehow under a sort of spell. A spell that dictated him to move closer to the bed, to bend down, and to tuck the boy in. And he was rewarded with a beaming smile and a whispered "Good night, 'fesser."

Seriously, could this get any worse? His 'fesser? All but worshipping him? He wasn't worshippable. Nothing of the kind. He was evil and every single student of his could attest that. Everybody believed it. Everybody thought so – except the boy.

He shook himself internally, sitting in his plush, comfortable chair, a book open in his lap even though he wasn't reading and it wasn't even half nine when there was a knock on the door to his rooms. Minerva, giving the boy half an hour to sleep. Good.

At half past three, she had been angry still. At half past five, her anger had slowly grown to worry. At half past six, during dinner, she had tried to distract herself by talking to Harry. At half past seven, she had paced her, no, their, rooms. And at half past eight, she stood in front of Severus's quarters, knocking softly, hoping Harry was asleep.

She truly couldn't hide her grin (though she felt mostly not like smiling) upon seeing Severus and remembering what Harry had told her during dinner.

"_And you know, Minerva, his hair was sticking up, all of his hair up to here," he had raised his little arms way over his head, "and it was all white from the shampoo!"_

She was glad he let her in without paying any attention to the grin and she let herself fall into one of his awfully comfortable armchairs.

"And?" he asked quietly, gesturing towards the door to the nursery which was only ajar.

"And nothing," she hissed. "And he never came back. Or did you see him during dinner? He's still gone when I left to come down here. No sight of him."

"Hm," Severus pondered and she could have slapped him for saying only that.

"I'm worried," she hissed. "I don't know where he's gone, what he's doing and he is my husband. I want him to be...I want him to share. I want to know what's going on. For the sake of Harry and for my marriage."

"Minerva," he groaned. "Why do you insist on telling me such things?"

"What things? About my marriage? Because we're friends, Severus, believe it or not and friends tell each other such things."

He groaned again, ignoring her glare that she shot him. Truth was, he was a good listener. Patient, when he wanted to be, and calm, most of the time.

"I think, though, that I have thought of another way of finding out what this is about," she leaned forward slightly, conspiratorially.

xx


	18. Chapter 18

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx  
**_

The chair squeaked a little as Severus leaned backwards with a sneer.

"You don't honestly think this will work, do you?" he asked, amused.

"Why shouldn't it? The castle has accepted you as Harry's, well, let's say guardian, why shouldn't the castle's inhabitants?"

"We're talking of Peeves, are we not? Peeves and the Grey Lady, yes?"

"Yes."

"But I remember that you tried to ask Peeves about it before. And he turned you down flat," he smirked. "And do you think that's changed?"

"No," she leaned back in her own chair, making that squeak as well. "But I'm not you."

"Obviously."

"What I mean to say is, and you know damn..."

"Tut, tut, tut," he couldn't stop the sneer to turn into her grin as he saw her grimace.

"You know damn well what I mean by that. The castle accepted you as Harry's guardian, father-figure, whatever, and so will Peeves. And if you ask Peeves, you might get an answer out of him. Maybe not a straight answer but between us, I don't doubt that we could figure it out."

"What he meant by that? Peeves loathes me. He loathed me since I came to this school. He knows what happened during my time here and he..."

"That's beside the point. You don't have to ask him. Well, yes, you do, but not you as you but you as Harry's guardian."

"I'm not his guardian," he argued.

"And that's beside the point as well. Even though we have to fix that in case his relatives try to claim him or in case the Ministry wants to get their hands on him. But not the point, at the moment. The point is, dear Severus, that you will ask Peeves as a concerned, worried father-figure. And that gives you the right angle. Harry obviously did something to Peeves, something that I have never seen nor heard of, but it has taken effect and Peeves, a Poltergeist, cares for him. And he only wants what's best for the boy. So if you..."

Severus groaned. "I get it. But I don't think it'll work."

"Well," she looked at him challengingly. "Do you have a better idea?"

He shifted rather uncomfortably in his chair. "No. Not yet," he replied, surprising himself with his rather meek voice.

"Well then."

"Well then what? What do you think I should do?" he asked, his tone back to its sarcastic self. "Go to the Poltergeist and ask, very nicely, oh dear Peeves, what is that you think burdens the boy?"

"Oh right," she looked confused. "It was only about the boy, wasn't it?"

"I try to think so," he huffed. "I don't even want to imagine that it has something to do with..."

"Hmph," she huffed. "You're right. But why should Albus keep this a secret?"

"Because he's barmy. You should know that. You're married to him," he huffed back.

"You don't happen to have Veritaserum on you?" she asked, annoyed.

"I do but I won't give it to you," he snapped back. "I will ask Peeves but I doubt much will come from it."

"Alright," she scratched her eyebrow and made to stand. "And I'll see if my dear hubby as returned yet."

"Only you could refer to Albus Dumbledore as your dear _hubby_."

"I certainly hope so," she said grimly.

xx

She opened the door to their bedroom slowly. In the living room, still as tidy as she had left it, had been no sign of him. Not in his study, not in her study. Not in the bathroom. She hoped, crossing her fingers behind her back, he would be in there. Snoring the way he did.

But the bed – was made. Untouched. Not slept in. With a sigh, Minerva let herself fall on the bed, hiding her face in her hands. Her anger at him had dissipated completely and all that she felt at this moment was horrible, terrible, agonising worry. The last time he had left without telling her where he went, or without at least giving her a hint where he had gone had been during the last war. And even then, he had never left without saying good bye.

Then again, those had been hard times and nobody knew whether they would see the person they were talking to ever again. It wasn't like this now, she hoped. She was an old woman and truly didn't want to see another war in her lifetime. Not another rise of you-know-who. Or another dark wizard. She wanted to enjoy her remaining life with her husband. Not angry at him, not worried about him, just sitting with him and reading and talking and teaching more or less capable children. That was all she wanted. But the way she felt at the moment, this was one wish that wouldn't come true. It was more an itch at the back of her head than an actual feeling that made her think so. Made her think they were on the brink of something horrible and big. Nothing she could prove.

And to think she called Sybil Trewlaney mad about five times a week.

Walking through the old, creaking wooden door (she should really have that fixed. Couldn't count the times she had been woken during the night when Albus got up) into the bathroom, she sighed to herself for the umpteenth time and undid the bun at the back of her head, letting her hair fall down and enjoying, with another sigh, the tingling sensation on her scalp. Had really put it up too tightly that morning. She let her fingers glide to the top of her head, massaging the hurting, tingling skin and rolled her head back.

"Damn old codger," she muttered to herself, half-staring in the mirror after a moment. She dragged her eyes away from her mirror-image and did what she did every night before going to bed. Of course, usually, there would be Albus reading in bed, waiting for her before lights out. It had truly been a while since he had been away overnight. A long while.

"No matter," she muttered again and suddenly jumped.

"What is no matter?" she heard from her bedroom, her racing heart pounding against her chest. She knew, rationally, that this was Albus speaking, she knew his voice and his steps but that didn't stop her from grabbing her wand and in her under-robe and with long, flowing hair to rush into the bedroom. Her wand was raised at the intruder (she had, after all, told him to sleep on the couch) and she glared menacingly.

"Minerva, please put the wand away. You know how much I dislike your stinging hexes," he smiled – winningly.

"Albus, what were you doing? Where were you? I was worried about you," she cried in her Scottish brogue, not caring that it never failed to make him smile. Couldn't help that her accent was more pronounced when she was agitated.

"Oh my sweet wife," he chuckled and wanted to move closer but her wand was still pointed at him and she glared.

"Don't you dare come near. Where were you? And stop grinning, for Merlin's sake," she still glared and for good measure, send indeed a stinging hex his way. Her glare lessened when she felt him rubbing his backside (where she had aimed) and his face took on a pained expression.

"Minerva," he wheedled.

"No. You explain first," she huffed.

"You're very lovely when you're angry and talk like that," he smiled gently. "Now if you lower your wand, I'll explain."

"Yes, please," she caught herself and switched back to her regular, cultivated English. Besides, she couldn't stand it when he said she was lovely when she was angry. He always thought so. Always said so. She watched him as he rubbed his backside still and sat, gingerly down on the edge of the bed. "I got a clue from Peeves about, well," he sighed, "what Voldemort could have used to stay, in plain language, immortal."

"We don't know that it's the case," she argued hotly.

"We don't have a corpse or any other remains to prove he's dead, darling."

"Do not call me darling," she snarled. "What about Peeves's clue?"

"Nothing. Either the Poltergeist is pulling one of his elaborate plans, or he simply doesn't know it any better," he sighed as he got up and moved closer to her, and closer, and finally stood so close that he could take her wand from her hand. "I didn't want to tell you in case just that happened and I saw no need to be getting anyone's hopes up that we might be nearer to completely destroying him. I'm sorry."

Minerva's gaze softened but she couldn't help remaining just the tiniest bit suspicious. "What was it that Peeves said?"

He looked deeply into her eyes and before she could protest, he had wrapped her in his arms. "I'm sorry I worried you but I had to follow this. He said that Voldemort is in between this world and the next. For the time being trapped there."

"And how could you prove that he isn't?" she asked, trying to disentangle herself from the grip he had on her.

"I went to Godric's Hollow. It was good to see the old place again and cast a few charms. If Peeves is right, or had been right, I would have detected his presence there. But there is none."

"That's a load of..." she huffed. "And you expect me to believe it?"

"Why should I lie to you?" he asked, looking into her eyes once more. "We're not any closer to knowing what happened to him and where, or indeed, what he is at the moment. Maybe he has been completely killed. But I should have known better than to listen to Peeves. Is the school in taters now?"

"Not that I know off," she replied tiredly and sunk, half-convinced into his arms. "Donae ye daur jist disappearin' oan me loch 'at," she whispered into his chest.

"I won't, I promise. But this sounded so...and I had hoped...with the boy here it's just a bit..."

"I know," she nodded. "Makes it seem much more real again, all of a sudden."

xx

"'fesser?" Harry asked, innocently, he hoped, at the next day over breakfast which had been served in their rooms again. Or which the 'fesser had made.

"Hm?" he grumbled.

"Can I go maybe play outside for a little today?" he asked quietly, then, a moment later, when his 'fesser had not answered at all, he continued, "Because Aunt Petunia always made me tend to her flowerbeds and such and I like being outside. And it seems like nice weather."

"Those are enchanted windows. They don't show the weather," he looked up from his tea and his paper.

"Yeah, I know but no, I don't know. Really? How do you enchant them? Can you make different weather? Is it really raining outside?"

"Too many questions," his 'fesser still grumbled and it made Harry smile. The poor man didn't like mornings at all. He was always so grumpy in the mornings. But it was really cool to see him so all hmph-y. It was nice because sometimes, Harry didn't like mornings either and he knew that he still had to make breakfast sometimes for Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon and Dudders and when he wasn't quite awake, he had sometimes burned himself on the hot pan. He knew he didn't have to fear that here. If the 'fesser was grumpy and happy enough with a cup of tea and toast, he wouldn't have to fear having to make breakfast.

"But can I go outside? That is just one question," he wheedled. Didn't know why he dared to wheedle like that. Maybe it was because his 'fesser was still so grumpy.

"Maybe," he answered shortly.

"Maybe we can fly?" Harry felt truly sneaky at the moment. But the good kind of sneaky, not the bad kind. "You know, like Minerva said. On a broom?"

"Harry Potter," his 'fesser looked at him over the rim of his teacup and fixed him with his eyes. His legs, that had started dangling some time ago, stopped immediately and he felt himself sitting straighter. "Are you trying to out-Slytherin the Head of Slytherin?"

Harry frowned. "What does that mean?"

"Hmph," his 'fesser answered.

"Is that a yes or a no to the flying? And what is slitherin'? Like a snake? Oh, can we do that? You know, you slither on the floor like a snake and I slither on the floor like a snake and we see who's faster? Will you do that with me?"

His 'fesser then only stared at him as if he were completely mad and insane now. "What did I say wrong?" he asked timidly.

His 'fesser sighed, closed the newspaper and put it on the table. "Slytherin is a House in Hogwarts. The school you're in at the moment, remember? The students are divided into four Houses. Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and," he coughed, "Gryffindor. Every house as a Head. A teacher assigned to that House. And I happen to be Head of Slytherin."

"Cool! Can I be in Slytherin when I go here? Oh, I don't know if I want to go here. I don't know if I want to use magic at all. Apart from brewing. Can I only brew potions?"

"We will talk about this another time. But yes, I think you will go here. And the Sorting Hat will decide which House you belong to."

"What is a Sorting Hat?"

Again, he sighed. "A Sorting Hat is an old hat that dates way back to the Founders and which sorts the students."

"How does it do that?" Harry asked, curiously.

"I don't know. You will have to ask the hat or the Headmaster," he replied evenly.

"I will. Can I try the hat on and ask him beforehand? You know so I can prepare which House I'm in? If I go here?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because it isn't done," he sighed and took another sip of tea.

"Okay. But I can see it, right?"

"Yes, you can see it."

Harry fell silent. It was a lot of information but this place was strange in any case. Ghosts and Poltergeists and magic. A hat that sorted, like he had to sort Aunt Petunia's tea towels according to colour seemed nothing special, actually. "'fesser?"

"Hm?"

"Can we still make a slitherin-race?"

"No," he grumbled.

"Can we go flying then?" he smiled broadly.

"Hmph," his 'fesser said and grimaced.

xx

He had absolutely no idea, not the slightest, why he was there. With the boy. On the Hogwarts grounds. A broom in his hand. He had further absolutely no idea why the boy clung to his hand and seemed to pretend that they were going on the world's most terrifying expedition. He had no idea why he should be the one flying on a broom with the boy. Well, truth be told, yes, he knew. Albus did not fly, even if he was back at the castle, Minerva flew too riskily, loops and whatnot, a remainder of the time when she had played Quidditch and he wouldn't trust Septima Vector any farther than he could throw her. Which wasn't very far, probably. Without magic. So, instead of spending a nice, quiet day brewing, the boy jumped excitedly at his side, pretending, apparently, to jump occasionally out of harm's way (almost severing Severus's arm in the process), and he was about to mount a broom. With the boy. Sitting in front of him. And again, the boy jumped.

He had never been this silly as a child. Even though, locked deep in his memory, behind years of drudgery and teaching and nothing he wanted to remember where moments of playing with Lily. Of pretending, how apt, to conquer the dark and evil. Pirates. Aliens. No. That hadn't been so silly.

He stood, waited for the boy to calm and as he looked up at him, smiling, or rather beaming, he merely grimaced and mounted his broom before he picked up the boy bodily and heaved him (he had though, somehow imagined the boy to be heavier) in front of him.

"Hold on to the broom," he explained gruffly before he cast charms on him as well. He didn't care to explain to people how the boy had died. And how it had been his fault. No, he didn't fancy that at all and he could only begin to imagine the hexes Minerva would bestow on him if the boy fell accidentally. Or the dressing down he would receive from Poppy or Minerva, and Albus, if he broke a leg or an arm.

"I'm holding," the boy replied, looking over his shoulder.

"And keep your eyes straight. No moving of the head or any other parts of your body," he added immediately.

"Okay," he nodded, looking straight ahead.

"Good," he muttered and kicked off the ground.

It had been a while since he had flown. He preferred apparating or portkeying to this type of transportation but the boy in front of him seemed to like it. He whooped and cheered and even yelped, but, Severus noticed almost proudly, he didn't take off his hands off the handle. Kept them there, right behind Severus's and the boy did not truly move, but it was only a matter of seconds that it felt, almost, as if he was snuggling to him, almost resting against him, his back against his chest and he head against his shoulder.

The boy did enjoy flying with him and Severus could not understand why. Could not understand why at all.

xx

It was strange, really, Septima Vector pondered on her way down, to be back like this. She knew she was considered, lately, to be one of the prime Arithmancers in the country. She liked Arithmancy, magical properties of numbers, cold logic, clear answers when life in general, and hers in particular seemed to be illogical and unpredictable. She liked predictable, thank you very much. She liked to plan ahead, to see through things before others could. She had never considered being asked to teach at Hogwarts even though it had been one of her dreams. She had never considered being on a first name basis with Albus Dumbledore. And she had never considered being asked to tea with him twice in her first three days back at the castle and it all just sort of threw her.

"Come in, my dear," she heard from inside his office even before she knocked and she disliked that kind of thing. She liked to see through people and to know what they were up to before they knew themselves and now, there, were more people that she couldn't figure out than those she could. Albus Dumbledore was a mystery. Minerva McGonagall, who was obviously also his wife, was a mystery. And Severus Snape who apparently now took care of Harry Potter of all people, was the biggest mystery. She had heard rumours, hearsay of other people and now that she had met him, while being rude and mean, he still was different than she had imagined, thought, knew from the gangly seventh year at school.

Nevertheless...well.

She opened the door to the Headmaster's office and, plastering a smile on her face, stepped in. "Hello," she said softly.

"Please, Septima, take a seat. Tea will be here at any moment."

She wasn't sure what to expect. She had, really, suspected to meet him on her first day and then not until the school year began. She had planned on planning her classes.

"How do you like it so far?" he asked gently, his eyes twinkling.

"Fine. It's good being back," she replied honestly.

"Good, good. I heard the Grey Lady and Peeves gave you quite a scare."

"I wouldn't put it quite like that," she smiled, "I was more surprised, really."

"Oh, you know what those ghosts are like, always coming up with strange things," he laughed.

"Hm, yes. I was glad, however, that the Grey Lady remembered me," she smiled still. Something wasn't quite right. Was this only about small talk?

"You might be wondering why I asked you up here?" he asked softly, handing her a cup of tea that had just appeared on his desk.

"I haven't expected it, to be honest," she replied non-committally.

"Well, in fact, I have asked you here because I need your expertise on Arithmancy."

"Oh? Well," she nervously pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, waiting.

"Well, there is something I have been thinking about for quite some time and I'm afraid it's rather a theoretical thing..."

"I'm an Arithmancer. We work mostly on theoretical things," she explained good-naturedly, looking down at her lap and sucking in her stomach for a moment.

Albus Dumbledore chuckled, then put his elbows on the desk and his face in his hands, looking, at that moment, Septima thought, almost like a little boy. "If I had a thing, or multiple things, which I could divide and hide, which would be the optimal Arithmantic number to divide it in?"

"I'm afraid I don't..."

"Let's say I have a, erm, sum of money, and I want to divide that up to give to several charitable Wizarding foundations, how many would be wise?"

She looked at him stupidly. This was a strange question. "You mean which number has the highest, or best, or worst, or most interesting magical properties?"

"Yes," he nodded, his eyes twinkling.

Well, for that the answer depends. Six, since it is the smallest possible perfect number and represents the six sides of a cube. Seven, since, well, I'm sure you know all the reasons for that. However, as it was usually believed that seven would be the only 'magical' number, apart from three, that is not the case. Six has a higher value magically. Think of the six drops of rabbit blood that go in Veritaserum, or the six basic rules of Charms," she began to lecture.

"Yes. Yes, I see. So six or seven? Which would be preferable?"

She shrugged her shoulder. "Neither. Well, it depends on what you truly want to achieve with it. The perfect magical number, historically seen is seven. The more powerful is six."

"Thank you, Septima, that helped a lot," he smiled and somehow, Septima felt dismissed. And truly strange.

xx


	19. Chapter 19

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx  
**_

The boy's hair was even more unruly than before and nothing he could do with his hands and ten fingers could smooth it down. He resorted, after a moment, to sticking it to his head once more, even though, well, with everyone in the castle knowing who he was, it might be a futile thing to do. Still – or maybe, he just wanted to wipe away all the evidence that he had taken the boy flying and that his hair was windswept because of it. Not that he would be able to deny it once the boy started talking to someone. No doubt gushing, chattering about how he had loved to fly and that it had been nice to do so and that he wanted to do it again. All things, he, Severus Snape, had to listen to ever since they had dismounted his old Cleansweep 2 and had pulled the boy along with him.

He felt, in that moment, when the boy skipped by his side, utterly old and worn. Couldn't explain it properly but he couldn't remember a time in his life when he had been so – simply – happy. The boy bounced and skipped and chattered and thanked him all the time. He had taken him flying, had not saved his life or had cured whatever disease. He had only plucked him down on the front of his old, worn, broomstick and had circled the Hogwarts grounds a few times. And the boy had derived so much joy from it. So much joy. He didn't truly think that he would ever, in his life past, present and future, feel that much joy as the boy was demonstrating at that moment. From riding a broom. With him. Well, the with-him-part was probably utterly unimportant to the boy. He was then, definitely, coming after his father. Flying and quidditch above all.

It was ridiculous to be so happy from flying. Even though, something registered in his brain, something the child babbled mindlessly beside him – again, he noticed with a sort of weary apprehension, holding his hand.

He looked down at the boy. "What did you just say?"

The boy smiled. "I said it makes you feel free to fly. I said I felt completely free for the first time and at the same time..." the boy looked down, stopped walking and stared at the grass underneath their feet.

"What?" he asked sharply.

"Prctedcozywerethre," he muttered.

Severus snorted indignantly. "What is rule Number seven on your chart?"

"I was speaking in complete sentences and correct English," he muttered, clearer this time.

"Then my hearing must be off and you forgot English actually has consonants. Repeat."

"Protected because you were there, sir," he looked up shyly.

Oh dear mother of Merlin, Severus thought. He knew the boy had a weird connotation with him being his 'rescuer' from evil Petunia Evans but to feel protected on a broomstick by him? And that made him feel good about flying? Freedom while at the same time feeling protected? Someone, no, not someone, but the only child of the one person he had truly scared off and his worst sort of enemy during school, felt that he protected him.

He knew he was going round in circles. His head always thinking the same thoughts, without ever coming to a solution. He himself was getting bored with it but he couldn't help it. The past days, since the boy had been taken from the Dursleys, had seemed like a long drawn out nightmare, or dream, or simply surreal and his mind just wouldn't process the notion that the boy _wanted_ to stay with him. His mind didn't understand the why, his mind didn't understand the how. His mind didn't understand anything and he disliked that particular aspect probably most about the boy staying with him. It was always the same thoughts and he knew, sooner or later, he had either to accept the fact that the boy wanted to stay with him without thinking about it, merely accepting, or to have a few hours of solitude to truly wrap his mind around it. But he knew it couldn't go on with the constant wondering about the boy's motifs and his own motifs and all of those things.

And well, since he had never been someone to just accept something without giving it further thought, he knew he had to think straight once. Without interruption, without interference from the boy or Minerva or Albus. Or without thoughts of Poltergeists and ghosts and weird predictions. Needed to be alone to solve this in his head, once and for all.

"Would you mind spending the rest of the day with Minerva?" he spoke uncharacteristically quickly.

"I'd love to. But I will sleep in my room and you will be there, right? When I go to bed, I mean?" the boy asked and this was another thing. He breathed deeply. Needed to think.

"Yes," he nodded.

"Cool. And Minerva wants to look after me?" he asked, a little shyly and a little self-doubting.

"I'm sure," he said briskly and before he could change his mind and leave all those thoughts unthought and all those questions to himself unanswered, he thought of something nice, something lovely, his best memory. Lily on a swing. Smiling at him and whispered, gently, "Expecto Patronum."

Not a second later, the beautiful doe stood before him and he knew that, even though, Lily wasn't that present in his mind at that stage, even with her boy present, that this was, still, the best, happiest memory he could ever have.

xx

She had, of course, picked up Harry the moment she had heard the message from the Patronus, and as she had seen Severus's pensive face, she hadn't even dared to ask why it was so urgent and what he had to do. Nevertheless, she had her own duties and seeing that Albus had an appointment with the Minister of Magic (well, it was probably rather the other way round but he had gone to the Ministry), she had been stuck, once more, with the paperwork for the following school year. She hated to interrupt that and so, she had taken Harry with her to the Headmaster's office. It was much more comfortable to work in and the boy had more things to play with than in her own. Besides, all the notes on students were there, addresses, lists and the like she needed to work with.

And when all was said and done, Harry was rather like Lily than James when it came to things like that and for long minutes as she settled at the desk, writing and comparing lists and schedules, he merely sat on the floor in the office, looking around in wonder. Fawkes was there, singing a little, and all the insane knick-knacks that Albus collected were there as well for Harry to look at. For a while, he even talked to Dilys Derwent in the portrait and Minerva felt secure enough to just ward all the dangerous things, making it impossible for Harry to play with them, and returned to her work fully concentrated.

Hated making schedules. Hated it. Absolutely loathed it. But, as Albus said every year, it was her job.

Albus – she still wasn't sure what to make of that display the night before. Well, not display but his telling her what it had been about. She wasn't sure whether to believe him – even though she had no doubt that he would not really lie to her. It all just seemed so – strange. Still, no time to think about it. No time to think about it at all as the beginning of term drew inevitably nearer.

xx

He looked around curiously. He liked this office. There were so many things to look at and maybe, if he dared and was brave enough, to touch. Looking around, he saw a pretty pot-sort-of thing but when he tried to touch that, there was a feeling as if someone was slapping his fingers. And when he tried to touch the pot-sort-of-thing again, there was the feeling again. Harry thought about touching it a third time but then decided against it. He didn't really fancy getting his fingers slapped a third time and he knew that would happen. And so, he had another look around, This was truly fascinating.

And there, on a shelf, just high enough for Harry to reach sat an old, patched-up hat. "Oh," he said quietly to himself, then to Rhubarb who rode on his head. "I think," he whispered to his pet, "this is the Sorting Hat 'fesser mentioned."

Rhubarb purred and slid down his head onto the floor, obviously having spotted a spider or anything to eat and slowly, Harry approached the hat. He did not want another slap to the fingers but when he reached up and touched the hat, that didn't happen. Instead – the hat coughed. The hat just coughed. How could a hat cough? But if the hat could sort, then coughing didn't seem so outlandish.

"Hullo," Harry said quietly and shyly.

"Hello," the hat replied in a loud, commanding voice and Harry made a shushing noise immediately.

"Minerva is working," he replied considerately.

"Put me on then," said the hat.

"No," said Harry. "Why should I?"

"Because I can tell you things, and I'm not evil," the hat replied kindly and softly and slowly, Harry looked around first, he pulled the hat from the shelf.

"Careful now," cautioned the hat and Harry put it on his head and as his head, including his face, disappeared almost entirely in it.

"You smell," Harry complained.

"That's because I'm old and sat on the heads of a lot of children. I don't think I have ever sat on such a young mind, though."

"I'm seven," Harry whispered.

"I know. Half a Potter. Not a good life so far, I see, but it's getting better. Raised by the Slytherin. And you like him. You like him a lot. Did you have fun, flying?"

"Yes, very much," replied Harry. "And I know that my 'fesser likes me. And I like him. He protects me."

"And you need protection."

"Yes," whispered Harry. "My 'fesser said you sort the students who go here in Houses. But I don't know if I want to go there."

"Why not?" asked the hat, his deep voice (not quite as deep as his 'fesser's) asked curiously.

"Because a bad wizard killed my mum and dad."

"That is true," the hat sighed. "But you have great potential to do a lot of good things. Provided you are loved."

"But...I'm alone. My parents are dead, I can't be loved," he stuttered, and felt his eyes tingling with tears.

"Oh but you are. The snake and the lion both love you," he explained gently.

"Who's that?" Harry asked, short of sobbing.

"You will find out. And when the time comes, you will have you pick of your House. You will be loved and protected in both. But only one will be better for you yourself."

"Which?" Harry asked.

"You will know when the time comes. And you will be a great and good wizard, young Harry. There is no need to be afraid of magic. Everything that surrounds you is magic and the lion and the snake will teach you perfectly."

"Harry!" he suddenly heard the muffled voice from Minerva and said a quick, whispered good bye to the hat before he yanked it off.

"He-he-he s-s-s-said I could put him on," he stuttered.

"What did the Sorting Hat say?" she asked, prying it away from his fingers and with an admonishing glare towards it, set it back on the desk. "Knew I should have put a charm on it," she muttered.

"He said," Harry said slowly, "that I will be a good wizard if I'm loved and then I said that I can't be because I'm alone and he said that the snake and the lion love me. But I don't know who that is. Who is that?"

Suddenly, he was pulled off his feet and Minerva had somehow, picked him up and held him to her chest. Like cuddling, or hugging and she stroked his hair and even though he was first a bit surprised, he wrapped his arms around her neck. He had never been hugged by a woman before. Not really, not that he could remember and it felt softer than his 'fesser and just as warm and wonderful and he couldn't help but cling to Minerva and hold her and she breathed funnily and he felt her suddenly, kissing his head and holding him tightly.

"Oh aye. I know the lion and the snake and they both do love you a lot, wee lad," she whispered in his ear and even though he didn't quite understand her, he knew that she meant that he was loved a lot. "And I love you," she added and Harry could only take a deep, shuddering breath and lean more into her touch and against her body, warmth spreading all over his and in body and he felt a kind of joy he had not even experienced during flying.

xx

He rested his head against the tree , pushed his back deeper against the warm wood and sighed. The point was – the boy had to be kept safe. Safe from bloody Muggle relatives and safe from those in the Wizarding World who wanted to harm him. The point was that he was, at that stage, the only one who trusted himself enough to do that. He had to keep the boy safe because he had given his promise all those years back. He wouldn't exactly say that he liked doing it but sometimes, the boy did surprise him with his wit. The point was that he was more like Lily than he was like Potter. The point was that he had never been able to resist Lily and had only once not done what she had asked him to do. And that had led to their estrangement, so to speak. And since the boy had his mother's eyes, he found it hard to resist those.

Hell, okay, yes, he had sometime in the last days developed a protective streak towards the boy. Didn't want to see him suffer because he was all that was left of Lily. And he was the one supposed to kill the Dark Lord.

He would, that was the ultimate conclusion to his thinking, accept that the boy liked him because he had saved the boy from his mad relatives and evil Aunt Petunia.

Moreover, he would give his best to give the boy a good education.

He would let the boy call him by something else other than 'fesser (and anything to get rid of that awful title).

He would teach the boy to brew potions.

He would raise the boy to make him as little like Potter as possible.

He would just accept that the boy liked him. Even though he wasn't sure what exactly was likeable about him.

He would follow the rules given to him by the boy and he would reassure the boy.

He would read books about raising children.

And it would be very, very difficult. He sighed again and closed his eyes against the bright sun, shoving all his thoughts away. He knew, that in the end, him taking the boy in and raising him had little to do with the fact that he had once been madly in love with Lily. It was a kind of redemption for the mistake he had made. Penance, really, that he had told the Dark Lord of the Prophecy. It was all fair and square, in the end. He had made sure the boy didn't have parents anymore, so he would have to become a parent figure instead. Balance. And only this way, could he ensure that he could save his own neck. In some way, should the Dark Lord return. If not – there was a human being (even though it was a child) who more or less adored him. And that hadn't really happened before.

He would call him Harry.

It was all a question of will, really. And he had a strong will. Always had. Didn't have anything to do with anything sentimental. It would be Harry and he would let Harry call him – Severus. Probably. Anything but 'fesser. Maybe Snape. Or maybe, well, he'd let the boy decide. But he refused to be called by any fatherly title. He wasn't his father.

He would give him pictures of his mother. Encourage him to be more like her.

This thinking had been good. It had cleared his head. It had made him realise that he had to do this without being mad and angry and annoyed all the time. He would give the boy – Harry – a childhood. Just as simple as that. A childhood he hadn't had, and a childhood that hadn't had.

He would not doubt his decision.

"Ahem, ahem," his eyes sprang open and his wand was in his hand immediately as he looked up and into the smiling face of this woman. Vector. Who wasn't quite so chubby as he remembered her from meeting before. Maybe he could throw her farther than he trusted her. A little. "Se...Prof...I don't even know what to call you," she smiled. "Mind if I sit? I have, I think, something to tell you."

He sighed – dramatically. "Severus," he grumbled. "We're all on a first name basis even though it seems quite ridiculous to me."

"Okay," she smiled brightly, "Severus. Septima. In case you don't remember. Or Tima, if you speak with a lisp."

Severus found himself almost, almost smiling. He settled on smirking instead. "And what do you want to talk about?"

"Well, you remember what I told you what the Grey Lady said, right?"

"I am not in my dotage yet," he sneered.

"Yes, yes. So earlier today, I was called into the Headmaster's office. And I mean I'm not sure it has anything to do with anything or whether I should tell you this, but I have the feeling it might and that Harry might be in danger and you're his guardian, strange as it is, and..." she took a deep breath and without being asked, settled down on the grass next to him, cross-legged, careful that her skirt covered all of her. She played with the hem of her skirt nervously before she looked up and into his eyes with her bright blue ones. "I have no loyalties towards the Headmaster, apart from him being my boss and since I think you are very concerned with Harry's security..."

"Spit it out, woman," he snapped impatiently.

"Oh dear, quite a temper, Severus," she chuckled mildly, "forgive me. So the Headmaster asked me about the most magical number. In case he had to divide something or hide something. And it seemed odd to me. Why should he ask that?"

He blinked. So the woman was not blindly loyal to Albus. She ran to him with information. Interesting. If it was information. He had to talk to Peeves. Immediately. "I don't know what relevance this has for anything," he said coldly and got up on his feet and yet, something in her face, made him stop before he could dash away. "But I thank you for that information," he added before he took off.

xx


	20. Chapter 20

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx  
**_

Striding quickly through the castle, he didn't look back once. And why should he have? True, the woman with such an attitude had surprised him, because, well, that much was obviously, wasn't it? She should be loyal to the Headmaster. Keeping things confidential but she had gone against that because he was responsible for Harry. Because he was the one who cared for the boy. And because she had thought it important enough to share. The development was certainly interesting, however – he had no idea what to make of that information. Maybe it had absolutely nothing to do with what Peeves had told Albus. Maybe it was really just a theoretical question – maybe how many gifts to give Minerva for her birthday (not that he wanted to know about that). But it was, well, had always been, better safe than sorry. And even though Severus doubted that Peeves would tell him anything, or do anything apart from dropping any kind of bomb on him, he would have to try.

It was, after all, for the boy's safety. And if he could prevent anything to happen in regards to the Dark Lords re-occurrence, he would do it. It was his job, his promise, his vow. And it was, after all, only preserving himself. It was only saving himself. Self preservation. Nothing more than that.

"Peeves!" he bellowed as he reached the third floor corridor and waited for a moment. When he didn't hear the Poltergeist approaching, he bellowed his name once more. And waited some more.

"Snivvelly Snapely," he heard him cackle from somewhere and Severus had to clench his teeth. Bloody Poltergeist.

"I know you know what I want," he shouted. "I am Harry Potter's guardian," he continued in a growl when he saw the funnily dressed little man approaching. "And as such, I'm responsible for his continued well-being."

"Snivvelly Snapely cannot know. Snivvelly Snapely has thingy on his arm. Can't know," he zoomed past him.

"I know that there are six or seven of it," he cried out, taking a risk.

"S-s-six or s-s-seven? We only know of two," the Poltergeist stuttered and Severus was taken aback but felt his chance.

"Of what?" he asked carefully.

"Can't say. Dark thingy in arm of Snivvelly Snapely," he shook his head immediately and so viciously that the bowler hat he wore today almost fell off. "Told Headmaster and he says he will destroy. S-s-six or s-s-seven. Can't have survived it."

"It has something to do with Lord Voldemort?" he asked, grounding out the name.

"Y-y-yes. But can't say. Made a promise. Made a promise to Beautiful Helena and his Headmastership," he still shook his head and the bowler head fell down but before it could reach the ground, it vanished into nothing. Truly remarkable but now was not the time to think about Poltergeists. He shook his head to himself and glared at Peeves.

"Can you tell me anything?"

"Groop I implore thee, my foonting turlingdromes. And hooptiously drangle me with crinkly bindlewurdles," he cackled, back to his old self and Severus was glad about that. He had behaved too much like a House Elf before.

"Very funny," he groaned. "And what does it mean?"

"Nothing, Snivelly Snapely. But you might try the library," he added before he flew away.

"Helpful," he sighed and made his way up to the Headmaster's office, knew he would find Minerva and the boy – Harry (that would take some getting used to) – there.

xx

She wasn't quite ready to let him go just yet. She knew he was a big boy already and probably didn't want to be cuddled like that, or kept on her lap. Even though, he did snuggle close to her and she thought she had heard a tiny, tiny sigh of happiness when he did. She couldn't let him go. Not yet. Not when he had just told her that he considered himself unlovable. Didn't know that he was the sweetest, cutest child she had ever come across, even sweeter and cuter than all her nieces and nephews. But so – oh, she so wanted to cuddle him, hug the stuffing out of him. How dare he think that he was unlovable? She would show him. Would try and spend a little time with him every day. Severus wouldn't mind. Severus would allow that.

She kissed the top his head gently, and smiled, and kept him on her lap even as there was a knock on the door and even as she told the person to come in, suspecting rightly that it was Severus.

He arched his eyebrows high up and frowned. Oh well, she suspected that she looked a sight. Harry perched on her lap, his head pressed against her chest, his hands idly playing with a paperweight in the shape of a hippogriff he had found on the desk.

"'lo 'fesser," he said quietly and a bit tiredly, it seemed.

"Minerva, Harry," he said and it made Minerva's eyebrows shot up towards her hairline. He sounded – well – friendly. And he had used the boy's first name without hesitation.

"Severus," she nodded her head towards him. "And?"

"I need the library," he said softly. "But otherwise, no. Nothing."

"Nothing what?" Harry asked curiously, looking at Severus.

"Nothing, as I said," he replied sarcastically. "Would you like to go to the library with me?" he asked the boy and Harry nodded enthusiastically, then looked back at her and smiled.

"But you're not sad when I go?"

"No," she laughed. "The library is a good place and I might join you there later."

He turned around on her lap and looked at her quizzically for a moment before he flung his arms around her and hugged her. She couldn't help but hug back, chuckling and stroking his back.

"I love you too," he whispered gently in her ear before he disentangled herself from her and darted to Severus, taking the man's hand immediately and she could not hide her grin, wondering whether he would tell him the same thing he had just told her.

"'fesser?" he asked cautiously.

"Yes?" his 'fesser asked, looking at him with his dark, nice eyes.

"I put on the hat," he explained quietly, feeling a little embarrassed. His 'fesser had caught him snuggling with Minerva. He had been cuddled like he had never been cuddled before in his life and he was ashamed to say that he had utterly enjoyed it. It had been so different from all the other times when someone had touched him. Yes, it was nice when he could hug his 'fesser and he never let go too quickly but Minerva had just held him tightly and he had been allowed to just cuddle up. To just put his face against her chest and her neck and she hadn't let go at all. Had even carried him around and had put him on her lap. Well, he knew he was too big for that but he had a right to this. Had never gotten cuddles from Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon. Not even when he was hurt. He had something to catch up on. Didn't care if someone thought he was a baby. Well, he didn't want his 'fesser to think he was a baby. But he had only looked oddly, had not made fun of him with his face. So that was alright, really.

"You put on the hat? The Sorting Hat?"

"Yes," he replied meekly. "Minerva already said I shouldn't have. No, she didn't say that. She just asked what it told me and when I told her, she hugged me."

His 'fesser stopped walking and looked down at him. "What did it tell you?"

Harry swallowed. This was more difficult than he had thought. "He said that I can pick my house and that I shouldn't be afraid of magic because I will be a great and good wizard," he thought about telling the 'fesser about the love-thing but after it had led to Minerva cuddling him, he thought it was maybe not the best idea yet. Maybe later. Something held him back but he didn't know why. Something didn't seem quite right in telling him. Maybe because he was a man and men didn't go around telling other men that they loved them. Not even Uncle Vernon told Dudley he loved him. Aunt Petunia did so all the time. He would tell his 'fesser though. But not yet.

"Your pick of Houses? I see," he smirked. "Very good."

"Is it?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"Yes, it is," he still smirked and then pulled him along with him. "You can read up on the Houses in the library. And we have to talk about something later."

Harry felt cold dread entering his stomach. He hadn't done anything wrong, had he? He couldn't remember doing anything – apart from putting on the hat. And even Minerva hadn't scolded him for that. He swallowed around the lump in his throat and the cold dread turned into stone in his stomach. "D-d-did I do something wrong?" he asked quietly.

"No," his 'fesser shook his head immediately. "It's about the way you address me. But we can talk about that later."

"Address you?" he asked, the dread vanishing into thin air.

"Yes, address me. 'fesser is not a real word, Harry," he said gently.

"But...but...you're my 'fesser," Harry argued but somehow, he realised that his 'fesser had used his first name without hesitating. For the second time now.

"We will talk about that later in our rooms. Go in there now," his 'fesser explained and Harry was pulled into an amazing room. It was stuffed from top to bottom with books. One book next to the other. Books and books and books and Harry knew his eyes were getting as big as saucers and he heard himself gasp and saw his 'fesser (what was wrong with calling him that?) smirking.

"I'll find you a book to occupy yourself," he said softly and Harry looked up, his hand still firmly in his 'fesser's.

"Are all those books to read?" he whispered reverently.

"Yes, those are all to read. Not all for you to read now but in time."

"Really?"

"Yes," he huffed, lifted a wand and a book sailed, a moment later, through the air. "Here," he said as he put the book into Harry's hand, letting go of him. "You can read that."

"Hog...warts a his...tory," he read slowly but aloud and smiled happily at his 'fesser.

xx

He had sat the boy – Harry – down in the Restricted Section and had pulled out book after book after book. And nothing. Well, there were some things but he couldn't be sure. He didn't know what he had expected to find, maybe a red, lightning arrow pointing at whatever it was and he was slightly angry at Peeves for giving such a _helpful_ hint. It could be anything. Anything to do with the Dark Arts. He had never been a quitter but after three hours, and when he heard Harry's stomach growl, he had given up for the time being and had fed the boy in his – their – rooms and it was then, that he looked up with those green, startling eyes.

"What did you mean earlier? About 'fesser not being a real word?" he asked innocently, munching still on a sandwich.

"The word is Professer," he answered steadily. "'fesser is poor diction."

"But..."

"The students will return soon and you will be taught by Mrs Longbottom..."

"Oh, I don't...can't you teach me?" he asked, pleadingly.

"No, I cannot," he replied, surprised. Why was it that the boy always managed to surprise him? He wanted to be taught by him? Ah – of course. He knew him. And he didn't know Augusta Longbottom. Was familiar, a little, with Hogwarts. Wasn't familiar with anything else. He would have to owl Longbottom and ask her to introduce them slowly. Meet the boy at Hogwarts first. Would probably be better.

No. He had to get through this. Accepting that he took care of the boy did not mean he had to mollycoddle them. Quite on the contrary. He had to be strong if the kind of fate awaited him that Severus thought not impossible. He would have to think about it.

"I have my own classes to teach," he added coldly.

"Who is that Mrs Longbottom?"

"She will teach you. And you will meet her," he simply said.

"Okay," his face fell and he looked on the ground and petted his Puffskein who had mysteriously appeared in their quarters again after they had left it at the Headmaster's office.

"Now as to the matter of address. You may call me Severus," he said, his voice still cold. Didn't have to be nice. Did not have to be nice.

"Sev'rus?" the boy said and due to his lisp, it sounded, well, strange.

"Yes," he ground out. "Sev_e_rus."

"Sev'rus," the boy said again and looked a little sad.

"Yes."

Harry nodded. "When will I meet Mrs Longbottom?"

This had been too easy. Severus? Even though he lisped and was still slurring in his diction. Why had he just accepted that? And why did he look so – sad? "Next week, I think," he replied, startled.

"Okay," he nodded. "Can I go read the book?"

It was strange. Just strange. Just – not what he had expected. Not his bouncy, excited, usual self. He had to think about this and in the meantime, he could just nod and watch as the boy walked slowly into his room.

xx

Minerva was reading in bed when her husband came in. She felt very tempted to scold him and tell him, for the umpteenth time, that he should either run for Minister himself or tell him to just sod off and do his business by himself. But he was very pale when he almost staggered in and let himself fall on the bed and Minerva's eyes widened.

"What happened?" she asked, rushed and sat up behind him, her hands around him.

"It's very...I don't know what he wants. I don't know why he did it. I can't understand it. He..."

"Albus, what's going on?. You weren't at the Ministry, were you," she fell back, again, into her brogue. Happened too often lately. Had to reign herself in.

"I was, darling. But the Minister is...," he whispered tiredly.

She truly wanted to ask him further but he turned, suddenly, and enveloped her into his arms, clung to her and buried his head in the crook of her neck and Minerva was so startled that she could only hug him back.

Something was very fishy about this.

xx


	21. Chapter 21

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx  
**_

Severus sighed. The boy – Harry – Harry – Harry – had vanished into his room over two hours ago and he hadn't heard anything since then. Yes, the occasional noise of pages being turned but apart from that, nothing. And he had looked so lost, so little, so small when he had gone. That couldn't be good, it just couldn't. He debated, over lesson plans, whether to go talk to him and the little boy inside himself did want to do exactly that. But the little boy inside of him did not know what to say exactly. He wasn't the type to go in and say 'Hey Harry, tell me what's bothering you, I'm here to listen'. He just couldn't do that. Had never been able to. He just wasn't the type. And he doubted strongly that Harry would even tell him. Oh, he just didn't have enough experience with things like that, moody, sad children. He had nothing to draw back on, nobody had consoled him when he had been like that – not that he had ever been, well, yes, he had, but those were instances he didn't want to remember at all. No. Not on his life. But his father had been absent then, and his mother busy with her own problems. Couldn't be bothered with one sad little boy.

He knew he should go in, he knew he should talk to the boy, he knew he should do something. Hadn't he just thought about this entire business? That he should care for him and provide him with all possible things a family would usually provide for? And yet, he sat over lesson plans, pondering instead of just doing what he was supposed to do. Or what he thought he was supposed to do.

He just had to – he knew – stop his brain from overthinking and let his instinct decide. And his instinct was to find out what had depressed the boy. Had been quite normal until they had talked about schooling and his name for him. Then, it had been downhill. Hadn't thought the boy wouldn't want to call him by his first name, even with slurred diction. And being taught by Augusta Longbottom couldn't be so bad. True, she was an obnoxious Gryffindor with a strange taste in clothing but she was capable. Had raised her son and was raising her grandson. And she was the only way Harry could be with other children. Decent children. Even though he had heard that there was talk that the Longbottom boy was a potential squib. Didn't matter. He needed to have a friend. A friend, Severus knew, was most important for small, sad boys from dysfunctional homes. He had been lucky with Lily. And Lily's son should have the same chance. Even if he would grow to be a Hufflepuff, or no wizard at all. It was a magical home and Harry would learn there.

That had been Minerva's opinion anyway.

Sighing once more, he dropped his quill and ignored the splatters of ink on his desk and with long strides, proceeded to the boy's room and looked in.

He was on his bed, on his stomach, the heavy book in front of him, reading. But he did not look happy still. All the books in the library had made him happy and now – nothing? Severus felt overwhelmed and out of touch. He had done something, or something had happened, and he had no idea what it could have been. Well, name or schooling, or something else. Didn't know what, just didn't know what.

He coughed quietly and it made the boy look up instantly, his eyes almost clouded with tears but Severus knew he the best he could in holding them back.

"'lo," he said softly.

Now what? He couldn't possibly scold the boy for his diction. Not now. But what could he say? His brain kicked in again and he knew he wasn't cut out for this. He blinked, briefly, and forced himself to look back at his own childhood, forced himself to remember the little boy who had been sad out of whatever reason and tried, hard, to remember what that little sad boy would have wanted.

Well...

"Hello Harry," he began.

"Is it bedtime?" he asked back immediately, fearfully.

"Not quite yet," he replied steadily. Didn't know what was going on. Didn't have a single bloody clue. Severus took a deep breath and as he exhaled with a hiss, he sat down on the edge of the bed, facing the boy. "Harry, we live together now and I hear from the Deputy Headmistress, that the papers confirming I will be your legal guardian should arrive any day now. The Ministry is a bit slow but..." he stopped himself before he could begin a rant. Remembering the little sad boy in Spinner's End. Remembering him. "Anyway," he continued, "as such, I expect not only that you obey me, but if there is something that's bothering you, I'd like to know."

"Why?" Harry asked with big eyes and Severus couldn't say that he had expected that question. Had expected a lot of things but not this.

"Why?" he asked back.

"Yes, why?" Harry confirmed.

"Because this is how it is. If you don't feel good, or if something is bothering you, I need to know."

"Why?" he asked again.

"Because I want to," he argued. If the boy fell into a why-question-tirade now, he couldn't guarantee for anything.

"But why do you want to?"

"Why shouldn't I want to?" he snarled, "I will be your legal guardian whether you like it or not. You wanted to stay with me, I agreed and..."

"I want to stay with you," he cried out. "But you don't want me to stay."

"What?" he asked, frowning, puzzled, "I thought we had made it clear that you stay with me."

"But you want me to go to another school. And when students live here, I can't live here."

"What?" he asked again, feeling that he was the one being stupid at the moment.

"You explained that this is a school where students live. Here, I mean. And I know it's for older students but you said, I'll be going to school with Mrs Londgottom or something and that you don't wanna teach me and I have to live with Mrs Longotten and then..."

"Who said that?" he asked, surprised.

"You did. You said you can't teach me. And when you teach, you don't have time and you send me off to school. And I don't want that but if you want me to go, I will and..." he pressed his face deeply into the mattress and Severus could only hear heavy breathing and the occasional suppressed sob. The little boy inside himself told him to – just reach out and pet the poor boy's back – and since he had no idea what else to do, and how to tell the boy that he had completely drawn the very wrong conclusions, he reached out and let his fingers, slowly, stroke the boy's back.

"Mrs Longbottom will only teach you, Harry," he explained softly. "You will stay here. You will sleep here. In fact, I believe that you will only be at Mrs Longbottom's between half past eight and two, or maybe half past two every day. Then you will return. It's only a short floo journey away."

The boy was afraid he was sending him away. That was why he had been sad. That was why he had been depressed. That was – no. And letting him use his first name had probably added to that. He had taken away the title Harry had bestowed on him and had it replaced with something that everyone called him.

"It was a simple misunderstanding," he continued. "You can call me 'fesser, or Severus, which ever you like better but I'd prefer my first name. There are a lot of Professors in this castle. And this will avoid confusion."

The boy looked up, tears still bravely holding back. "You don't want to send me away?" he asked in a pitiful, little voice.

"No," he replied sternly. "But in the future, you should ask if you're unsure about something. I don't think I can stand more of those emotional outrages."

He blinked slowly and a small, lopsided smile appeared on his face. "Okay."

Severus arched his eyebrows. The boy confused him with his behaviour and he had just been nice. To the boy. "Alright," he said. "I will be continuing on working on my lesson plans and you get into the bath and afterwards a little food and then bed," he said sternly, wanting to set the rules, once more.

But of course the boy didn't think much of his rules, of course he wouldn't (oh, he would get the Potterness out of him yet) and instead of going to the bathroom, like a good little boy, he scrambled up from his position on his stomach and lunged himself, once more at Severus (that, however, he realised at the back of his head, was a typical Lily-move. All that constant hugging), wrapping his little arms around his neck, almost, again, strangling him and positioned himself on his lap, his head resting (pushing, more like) against his neck.

"I'm sorry I misunderstood you," the boy whispered, "it's just that I thought you didn't want me after the hat told me that the lion and the snake love me and I don't know who that is and when Minerva told me she loved me and I told her that I love her, I thought that maybe, you were angry because I haven't told you and that...but I do. I love you, 'fesser Sev'rus and I want to stay with you because you're cool and awesome and you protect me and you took me away and I don't ever want to leave and I just wanted you to teach me because then we could spend more time together but that was selfish and Aunt Petunia always said that I'm selfish and a freak anyhow and that Mum was selfish and a freak and that Dad was selfish and a freak and they went out and had themselves killed because of their selfish freakishness and then I felt selfish for asking you to teach me and nobody wants a selfish..."

Severus's head spun from all those words and he pushed the boy's head closer to his neck to shut him up. Half of his words hadn't registered in his brain in any case. Somehow, it had processed nothing anymore after the boy had said something like – I love you, 'fesser Sev'rus. Lily's boy. Lily's son loved him. Loved 'fesser Sev'rus (and if he hadn't been so caught up in the entire – loving-thing – we would have scolded him for adding those two names together). A kind of burning warmth spread from his stomach over to his lungs and spine and head and he thought he was dying for sure.

Oh, but children often said things on a whim. He couldn't possibly love him – Severus Snape, evil former Death Eater and bat of the dungeons – he had probably just heard it somewhere, or Minerva, in her infinite Gryffindorishness had put him up to it. Had probably told him because she was a sentimental woman with no children of her own, and now the boy just said so without any reason. Because, well, there simply was no reason to love him. He was not lovable. End of story. But somehow, his hands did continue to stroke the boy's back and somehow, he held the boy tightly to his chest and smelled his hair and his skin and all that was the boy. He could feel him breathing against his neck and somehow, just couldn't let go.

How he had wished that someone, back then, had held him this way.

xx

Septima Vector walked slowly through the castle. It was eerily silent, not a single sound to be heard, even the portraits were sleeping, it seemed. Everyone seemed asleep, everyone but her.

Things kept her up. She hadn't envisioned her coming to Hogwarts to be like this, quite on the contrary. Maybe, she had daydreamed too much and maybe, she had wanted too much. Maybe this just hadn't been the right decision. Maybe she should have stayed where she was, or maybe gone on to work for the Ministry. So far, she had managed to scare Harry Potter and basically make Severus Snape hate her more. Not that he remembered who she was. But the man disliked her. A lot. And that was – well, it just was. She could always hide. There was no better place to hide than Hogwarts. Nobody but her students and the odd staff member had to see her and she didn't have to go to meals and didn't have to be stared at and didn't have to do anything but teach. That was a good thing. Hated eating in front of a lot of people, or amongst a lot of people in any case since that one dinner while she had still been at school. Whoever said that Hufflepuffs were the nice ones – there, that one night had proven that wrong. Had just eaten with her friend Liz Dexter and that Hufflepuff (she didn't even know his name) with his friends had come over and had told her, in no uncertain terms, to stop eating otherwise, well, the Great Hall would be filled with her only. And since then, no matter if she ate much, or little, she dreaded any kind of comments that would, could, come. Couldn't help that she was a bit chubby. Loved food. Loved chips and crisps and pie. But only ever alone.

She had wanted this here to be different. Had wanted to be accepted for who she was – a bright mind, someone who knew her subject but in the end, it would be just like anywhere else. She would be the bookworm, the number-obsessed freak. And – to top it all of – she had scared Harry Potter.

Harry Potter lived with Severus Snape.

Severus Snape. She remembered him well from school. Not because he had been probably drawn to the Dark Arts, not because he was a Slytherin. No, he had been known, in certain circles (amongst the Ravenclaw seventh year, to be more precise), to be amongst the smartest brains Hogwarts had seen in close to a century. There was talk of him inventing spells just for the sake of it, and potions, just for the sake of it. And that had made her, well, frankly speaking, she had felt herself drawn to him. Brains. Brains was what she liked, didn't care what a bloke looked like and couldn't be picky, apparently, herself. Not even then (even though the Hufflepuff's comment had happened later) and she had watched him from afar until he had left school. Had never said anything, had never expected him to know who she was but when she had found out that he never really had, it had been a sort of stabbing sensation in her chest.

Septima sighed, glad she had grown up and wasn't interested in men anymore.

xx

The boy had fallen asleep on his lap. Without a bath and without food but what was he to do but to put him in his pyjamas and to bed? He, however, was far from sleep and when someone knocked on the door, he ignored it. Was probably Minerva anyhow and he didn't know anything new so there was no need to talk to her at all. And he would have to owl Mrs Longbottom after all. He knew it was the right thing to do and to ask her to come and see them first.

It was so easy to forget, sometimes, that the boy wasn't coming from an ideal home. He was so happy most of the time and bubbling over with questions. And then there were instances like earlier when he realised that Harry didn't quite know, as well, what it was like to be accepted and – liked. And that the boy grew scared easily. It was his own mistake that he didn't always see it. His own fault and he would have to just – write to Mrs Longbottom.

He sat down on his desk, the lesson plans discarded and picked up quill and parchment and just wrote. Quickly, precise.

_Dear Mrs Longbottom,_

_I presume that Minerva McGonagall has told you all there is to know about Harry Potter and the circumstances under which he came to live with me and she assured me that you would, along with your grandson, teach him. However, as I am also sure that she told you about the way he has lived before he came to Hogwarts, I hope you understand that you would agree to meet him beforehand in our quarters here._

_I am awaiting your reply. _

_Severus Snape_

He sighed, knowing this note was stupid but he nevertheless whistled for a school owl and tied it to his leg before he picked a book from the shelves and retired to his bedroom. It had been a strange sort of day.

xx


	22. Chapter 22

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx  
**_

He clung to her tightly, even after he had fallen into a fitful sleep. This wasn't the work of the Ministry. She knew what he was when he came back from there and it was never this – scared, afraid, like a child clinging to a mother, it had at least felt that way. And this was not normal. She was very suspicious as she watched him sleep – in her arms. Had never seen him like this and she couldn't help herself. She knew it was – wrong. She knew their relationship was more or less based on trust. But she had the feeling that he wasn't honest with her. Not honest at all and so she, as slowly as she could, disentangled herself from him and silently, casting charms on herself, picked up his discarded robes.

She hated what she was doing – but, she argued to herself – she couldn't help and support him if she didn't know for sure what was going on and went through his pockets. There.

There.

Right pocket. Something heavy and she pulled the heavy object out of it, gasping mutely under her Silencing Charm. A locket. A simple, unadorned locket.

Immediately, thoughts rushed through her head. An affair. Albus had an affair. She had never taken him for someone like that. They had sworn fidelity. They had...she flipped it over in her hands, herself being in never before known turmoil and as she examined it closely, anger, disappointment boiling hotly in her stomach and her chest, it suddenly snapped open and a bit of folded parchment fell out in her lap. A hidden message from his inamorata? How dare he? She was close to hexing him in his sleep – and close to tears. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe this meant nothing, maybe...it was for her.

Even though – something didn't quite fit. Why should he mentioning a 'he' when...oh she had heard rumours about his youth and Gellert Grindelwald but he had said it had been nothing more than friendship. And why should he be so...aggravated about this? The parchment made absolutely no noise in her fingers as she dropped the heavy locket in her lap and unfolded the note.

It wasn't a love letter. It wasn't – anything she had expected. This was...Minerva gasped as she read.

_To the Dark Lord_

_I know I will be dead long before you read this but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. _

_I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy is as soon as I can. _

_I face death in the hope that when you meet your match,_

_you will be mortal once more. _

_R.A.B. _

Horcrux? Horcrux? Where had she heard that before? Was that what he had heard from Peeves? Must have been. Since, how else would he have gotten this? Where had he gotten it from? How had he...was his state a result of this? She was just about to turn and shake him awake when he whimpered her name. She whipped her head around but he was still sleeping, clutching her pillow to his chest, his forehead sweaty and his hair sticking to his face.

Minerva shook her head as she carefully brushed his cheek and the hair from his face. What had he done? Her mind was whirring.

Horcrux. Locket. R.A.B. Dark Lord. Needed the library. Needed to look it up. Horcrux. Horcrux. Albus and their personal library, books flying. Minerva sat, closing her eyes, swallowed convulsively. Whatever a Horcrux was – if Albus had reacted like this, if he had found out about it – if he had thought this locket was one of those Horcrux-things, and if he had come back shaken and clinging to her, it couldn't be good. She took the locket and the crumpled piece of parchment and silently, left their bedroom and went to their library. If this had to do with you-know-who – and it had, according to R.A.B. (whoever that was, she would think about it later) then it could only be the darkest of dark magic. Horcrux.

Hor – she racked her brain. Translating Crux was simple – Crux was a cross in Latin – or essence in English. Hor?

Minerva pulled their Wizarding Encyclopedia from the shelf. But that wasn't much help. An Egyptian pharao or an Egyptian, Christian martyr.

Oh that was no good. She closed the book with what should have been a loud bang (if it hadn't been for the Silencing Charm) and sat down heavily with a huff.

Why was he keeping this from her? This was potential darkest magic. Hell, they had spent their honeymoon fighting Grindelwald She had fought to and he would do well to remember it. Keeping this from her? Minerva McGonagall wasn't sure whether she should be insulted or disappointed or angry. Or all three. She still didn't know what this meant, what it could be, but it was potentially dangerous. She huffed silently again and after putting her elbows on the desk in front of her, covered her face with her hands. Lack of trust. His biggest, biggest mistake.

"Oh Minerva," she suddenly heard behind her and she spun around rapidly.

He stood there, Albus, in his nightshirt and with his silvery grey hair in tangles and he was wringing his hands.

"Care to explain that?," she cancelled the spell on her quickly and lifted the locket for him to see. "What's a Horcrux?" She knew she glared and glowered and that she was radiating anger – and maybe a slight bit of pain and disappointment. She knew he didn't like her when she was that way and he was on the receiving end of this.

Tiredly, he sighed and walked to one of the shelves and picked up a book. "I should have told you but...believe me when I say that I only wanted to protect you."

"Protect me? That's the silliest thing I have ever hear. I fought as many dark wizards as you did. And what give you the idea that I want to be protected? I want to know what's going on. I'm your wife and I have a right to know why you come home looking like death warmed over," she cried and couldn't stop the tear seeping through her closed eyelids.

"I...I thought it was the right thing to do it on my own," he whispered softly.

"Do what on your own?" she asked, shaking herself. Bloody brogue.

"Destroying the Horcruxes," he answered in a whisper and put a book in front of her. _Secrets of the Darkest Art. _With a flick of his wrist, it opened. "There," he said gently, standing there, almost like a little boy, eyes downcast. She ignored him, and read, quickly, gasping as she did so. This was worse than she had imagined.

"And he has made them?" she asked after she had read the paragraph, shuddering.

"At least three that I know of," he answered shortly, tiredly, exhaustedly.

"Three? Three?"

"At least. Septima Vector is of the opinion that six and seven have the highest magical value," he answered, not looking at her.

"Six? Seven? How can you..."

"He certainly killed enough people," her husband said darkly and took two steps towards her. "I..."

"Albus, you...I don't think you trust me enough," she said with more tears falling from her eyes. "And that..."

"Please. Be angry with me tomorrow all you like. But tonight, I need you," he replied and blinked back tears himself. Minerva was torn – but she loved that man more than anything – and the way he stood there, so lost, the greatest wizard of their time being so afraid, she couldn't just leave and sleep in her office. Shaking her head, she got up and walked briskly to him, and hugged him immediately, holding him as he clung to her, once more.

"But I want you to tell me all about it," she whispered in his ear before she pressed a kiss on his cheek and led him back to their bedroom.

xx

He ran his tongue over it,again and again and again. There. There. Just there, he could feel it. Clearly. There it was and Harry felt absolutely bouncy and happy and wonderful and he cuddled Rhubarb for a second before he dumped his Puffskein on the bed (Puffskeins liked it, Harry knew) where it bounced and Harry dashed out of his room, into the living room where he sat. Harry blinked. He was still there, his 'fesser Sev'rus was still there and he had hugged him long the night before and had brought him to bed. Even though he didn't quite remember it.

He ran around the table and cried, "Good morning, 'fesser Sev'rus" loudly. The poor man looked up from his coffee, always so grumpy in the morning but Harry knew that he would be cheered up by this.

"Good morning, Harry," he replied sourly and motioned towards an empty chair – the same chair Harry usually occupied. But this was not what he had in mind.

Instead, he came to an abrupt halt in front of his 'fesser (well, more like next to him) and grabbed the hand that was holding the newspaper.

"'fesser Sev'rus, look!" he exclaimed and opened his mouth wide and bending the fingers of his 'fesser just so that only the index finger pointed towards him, he pulled it towards his mouth and before his poor grumpy Sev'rus could react, he ran the pad of his finger alone the gap between his upper teeth. "Feel 'at?" he asked, his mouth open, the pad of the finger still running along.

"Mister Potter," he said softly, "kindly let me take my hand from your mouth."

"But do you feel it?" he asked again after he had swallowed.

"Yes. Teeth," his 'fesser answered and Harry bounced.

"I get new teeth! And then that stupid gap is gone!" he bounced and skipped around the table. "Isn't that cool? Two brandnew teeth!"

"Hm," replied his 'fesser. "Fascinating."

"Why are you sometimes so mean and grumpy?" Harry asked innocently.

"Because," he answered, looking at him intently, "I do not like to stick my hands into other people's mouths before breakfast."

Harry giggled. Put like this, it made sense. But he was so excited. "I thought you would be excited as well. I get teeth!"

"I am well aware of that now, but in the future, I'd like you to simply state such a thing, for instance: 'Severus, I think I'm getting two new upper teeth.'"

Harry giggled again. Sometimes, his 'fesser Sev'rus could be really funny. And the way he always kept his face straight was great for telling funny things because you didn't expect them to be funny until the last moment. But there was something...something odd. "Why before breakfast? You have coffee already."

"Yes, Harry," he said and it sounded almost as if Harry should know what he was about to say, "I have coffee because you insist on talking during breakfast and without the proper amount of coffee I cannot answer any of the questions that come crashing towards me from you. So I had a cup of coffee but breakfast will be brought up in a moment."

"Really?" Harry's eyes grew big. "Did you wait for me with breakfast?"

"It is customary to eat together, is it not?"

Harry shrugged one shoulder. "I don't know. I didn't eat with Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon and Dudley. I ate afterwards," he explained. "Even though they always ate together." He could see him clutching his coffee cup tightly and Harry thought for a moment that it would break under the pressure of his 'fesser's fingers, he held it so tightly.

"It is customary now and we will eat breakfast and dinner together every day," he explained and it made Harry bounce a little more on his feet. "Now please sit down so I can explain our plans for the next two days properly."

Harry nodded eagerly and sat down and only saw how his 'fesser tapped on the table with his fingers and a second later, the table was full with breakfast. Harry's eyes grew big again. He had never seen this except in the great hall and it was wonderful. So much food and all he liked! He looked a little dreamily at his 'fesser and sighed happily as he put eggs and bacon on his plate. "What are your plans?" he asked curiously before he began eating.

"I've received an owl from Mrs Longbottom earlier today. She obviously likes to get up early," he grumbled the last part, filling his plate as well, "And she said she'd like to meet you beforehand and she will bring her grandson Neville here for you to meet as well tomorrow." He took a deep breath and it seemed he wondered how he should say the next thing, so Harry smiled encouragingly. "And I received an owl from the Ministry as well this morning. It seems that, whether you like it or not, you are now officially my ward."

Harry didn't think his eyes could grow bigger. But apparently, they could and he stared unbelieving, at his 'fesser Sev'rus. "R-r-r-really?"

"Yes," he groaned. "I'm your guardian."

"M-m-my guardian?"

Again, he groaned, then put a bit of egg into his mouth. "Yes," he repeated as he had chewed and swallowed.

"Yay!" Harry shouted loudly. "That means you can't send me back to the Durselys, right? And that means that I can stay with you, right? And that means that..."

"Yes, to all those questions. Now, would you like to see the document or will you believe me?"

"I believe you," he shouted happily.

"No need to scream," he admonished mildly but there was the smallest hint of a smile on his face. "And now that it's official that you have to stay with me, we will take a little trip today. I think you need clothes and a few more books and, well..."

"A trip?" No. Nothing could hold Harry on his chair now. Absolutely nothing. No glue to his backside and no – nothing. He dashed around the table and crashed straight into his 'fesser Sev'rus legs, flung his arms around the sitting man's waist and whispered into his robes, "Thank you, thank you. My guardian. My guardian 'fesser Sev'rus Snape."

"At least he can pronounce my last name," his 'fesser muttered but Harry heard him loudly and clearly and giggled again, pressing himself tighter against the man.

"I'm happy," he whispered. "Really."

xx

Severus rolled his eyes. How was he supposed the keep up with that child and now even officially. It had blown him a little when he had received two owls almost simultaneously. Mrs Longbottom was very interested in meeting Harry beforehand and the Ministry, probably with a little help from Albus had agreed to this quicker than he had anticipated. And now this happy, bouncy child. And he was supposed to bring it to Diagon Alley for some clothes and a book or two, maybe a beginner's potion kit since he had been so interested.

Oh but he would have to make sure that nobody realised immediately that this was Harry Potter he was talking for a shopping trip.

And the boy still hugged him until there was a knock on the door and he jumped away and grinned. "I'll open the door!"

"Breakfast!" he called after him. Had barely eaten anything.

"Hello Minerva!" he heard the boy cry before he turned around and saw the woman, her skin very pale and dark circles around her eyes, her hair not as neatly put up as usually and the boy was hugging her fiercely and she hugged back just as fiercely and carried him inside, nodding at Severus and sitting down with the boy in her lap still. But she looked at Severus, her eyes fixed on him and suddenly, a bit of parchment flew towards him. It was empty at first glance but when she raised her eyebrows, he waved his wand over it.

The boy talked to Minerva, told her in all detail what had happened since he had seen her last but he couldn't hear him – could hear nothing but the rushing in his ears as he read what Minerva had written.

_You-know-who created at least three Horcruxes. That was what Peeves told Albus. A Horcrux is an object in which part of a person's soul is hidden, thus making himself immortal. Definition in Secrets of the Darkest Art, it's up in our library. Albus has destroyed one of them, the Diadem of Ravenclaw (that was what the Grey Lady was talking about), he found one but that had already been taken by someone who calls himself R.A.B. _

_Albus thinks that Harry might be a Horcrux. _

"What?" he spluttered.

She only nodded sadly when Harry had fallen silent. "I was rushed and didn't think it prudent to let you wait longer. He didn't want us to know for safety reasons. But that's it."

"What?" he spluttered again, and was tempted, just as she was in that moment, to clutch Harry to himself. Or push him far away. Couldn't decide which. "How can..."

"The book I mentioned. Explains all."

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked innocently.

"He needs to confirm the last sentence," Minerva said gravely and held the boy tightly against her chest. "Time is, at the moment, not of essence since we haven't had any activity lately. But it happens rather sooner than later."

"Regulus," he said suddenly, thoughts jumbling in his mind. "Regulus Arcturus Black."

"Who is that?" Harry asked.

"Are you sure?" Minerva asked.

"Who is that?"

"I think so. He's the only one that fit and it was all very mysterious," he nodded absently. "Regulus."

"Black," she muttered.

"Who is that? What are you talking about?" Harry screeched and scrambled off Minerva's lap, glaring as best as he could, at both of them. He stomped his little foot on the ground. "What are you talking about?"

"Nothing to concern yourself, Harry," Minerva tried a weak smile.

"We need to..."

"Do nothing at the moment, Severus. Albus doesn't know much. And there could be more of those..."

"Six or seven, as Vector said," he said voicelessly.

"Exactly. But we need to work together and we mustn't panic. Trust me, I wanted to and wanted to rifle through all kinds of books but Albus said to carry on much as usual but we will meet. If you're so inclined..."

"After bedtime," he muttered.

Harry seemed close to exploding. "I want to know what you're talking about. It's so unfair not to tell me and you're talking in code and I don't get the code. Are you talking about me?"

"What were your plans for today, Harry?" Minerva asked, suddenly, brightening a little even though Severus could see it was a strain on her.

"'fesser Sev'rus said he would take me shopping because he's now my official guardian and I'm his ward. But I still want to know what you were..."

"It's enough now, Harry," Severus glared, "If you don't stop asking, I will take you nowhere." The boy pouted but then squealed when Minerva picked him up again and tickled him, telling him something about 'curious boys needed to be tickled' and Severus couldn't help but admire her strength in just pretending that nothing had happened.

Oh but this changed everything. Changed everything. And only ten minutes ago, he was looking forward to just showing Harry the apothecary.

xx


	23. Chapter 23

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx  
**_

He had wanted nothing more than bury himself behind – or in – books and read up on the subject of Horcruxes. It was important. He had to know – but he had not expected the boy to be so happy about going to Diagon Alley with him. And with Minerva's nudging, he had no other chance but to take him. And the woman even helped him getting dressed and ready and before Severus knew it, he had a fully dressed child bouncing around him, his hair neatly combed over his scar (though how exactly Minerva had done that, he had no idea), while he himself still sat dumbstruck on his seat and stared into thin air.

He didn't know much about Horcruxes. He didn't know if the Dark Lord could see him like this, taking care of the boy, if there was any sort of connection between the two. He didn't know if the boy was possessed in any way, he didn't know anything. And he needed to find out.

If the Dark Lord, if he could see him – or sense him – treating the boy this way, his value of a spy was non-existent. He could just go hang himself right this moment if this was the case. He wasn't of any use anymore. None at all. Absolutely, 100% no use, no value. He knew he had to go back eventually, he knew he would have to play his role, even if he did want to avoid it but if the Dark Lord knew that he had taken the boy in and cared for him this way without even attempting to murder him, that he wasn't looking for him at all, even if he knew that there was the possibility that he was still alive somewhere existed, he was dead meat. His life was forfeited. Just like that.

Didn't know what to do.

"Severus?" Minerva nudged him gently. "Albus said not to worry. He is much too weak to use that to his advantage. And he probably doesn't even know it. And the boy doesn't. Don't treat him differently."

He looked up, quite shaken, feeling odd. Truly odd. Like someone had thrown a bucket of water at him. Or had stuck a dozen ice cubes down his shirt.

"But he..."

"We don't know. Enjoy that day with Harry," she hissed, "He is so looking forward to it. Look, he even explains to his Puffskein why he can't go with them."

Minerva smiled fondly at him, her hand on his shoulder. "Please don't treat him differently. We will find a way if there really is that thing..."

"'fesser Sev'rus, where exactly are we going?" the boy asked, carrying his pet in his arms and when he didn't answer immediately, he felt Minerva's elbow connecting painfully with his ribs.

"Diagon Alley," he replied voicelessly, staring, he found, at the boy. Outwardly, there was nothing any different. He was just the same boy he had been earlier. At least he didn't look any differently.

"Where is Diagon Alley? What will we do there? What kind of shops are there?"

He felt Minerva's breath on his neck and her voice in his ear. "If I find out you're treating him differently, I will obliviate you," she said threateningly.

"I'm an Occlumens," he replied, loud enough.

"Which means?" she smirked. "I can get through it."

"What are you talking about now?" Harry complained, frowning and somehow it was that frown that made Severus pull out of his thoughts completely. He nodded towards the boy and towards Minerva and got up, shakily, from his chair. It would be time enough to think about that later. When he could find the books and could make notes. And from the stern glare that the Deputy Headmistress threw him, he knew she would make good on the threat to obliviate him. She would, he had no doubt at all.

xx

This was the ickiest thing he had ever done in his entire life. Even scrubbing the toilet had been more fun than this. Everything. He just hung on tightly to his 'fesser Sev'rus's hand and then there was this tug and the feeling that he was squeezed through a tight tube of something and he couldn't help feeling like toothpaste and suddenly, there was bright light and his 'fesser's hand on his shoulder, patting, and he didn't dare to completely open his eyes. His eyelids were a bright sort of orange though and he could smell something odd, like, wax and old books and old paper and people. He could smell people. And could hear them through the rushing noise in his ears talking to each other, laughing, saying strange words and all that. And he could feel his 'fesser beside him – no, half behind him and he wanted to just crawl into his arms and hide his face in his robes and clothes and all that but he knew it wasn't what he should do. He was a big boy, he should just open his eyes and – watch.

And he did. Just told himself to open his eyes and there was the funniest street he had ever seen. Crooked houses and people bustling past in funny clothes (even funnier than what Minerva usually wore), huge windows displaying everything from broom sticks to books to animals. The sun was shining strongly and on the corner was a sort of newspaper stand but it sold strange looking cakes and candy instead.

The strange, icky feeling in his stomach that almost felt as if he had been about to puke was almost completely gone but he nevertheless held on tightly to his 'fesser's hand. He held, oddly enough, with his right hand the 'fesser's right hand and his Sev'rus was behind him, more or less, guiding him. And while Harry could not see him, he knew he was there. Just there, behind him, protecting him from all the funny people.

"Where are we going?" he asked timidly, shakily.

"To get you clothes first, then the bookshop, then we'll see," the 'fesser answered immediately and Harry sighed. Sounded like a wonderful plan to him.

xx

He hadn't seen anyone with eyes that big. Ever. In his life. And that day, with Harry being so happy, it was truly easy to forget that he might be possessed by the Dark Lord's soul. And by the time they had returned to Hogwarts, with his pockets full of shrunk new clothes, new books, a few toys, including puzzles for the boy, and his first own potions kit, the boy was exhausted but he had never seen him so content and cheerful. Had never seen anyone like this after spending any amount of time with him, Severus Snape.

True, he almost had to carry him to their rooms but it had been worth it. Had truly been worth it. Had seen nobody he should have known, Harry had not been recognised by anyone, not even Madam Malkin. All in all, a very successful day.

Had been able to forget about Horcruxes, really. Until they entered the dungeons and he could see, from the corner of his eye, Albus standing in a dark nook and pointing his wand at Harry. Severus stilled, heart inexplicably beating in his chest and he only saw a faint yellow light coming from the Headmaster's wand before there was a yellow lightning streak showing on the boy's forehead. Where his scar was. Hidden by the hair. The same yellow light Albus's wand had emitted. On the boy's forehead.

Panicked, his mind not processing yet what was happening, he looked up at Albus – who only nodded sadly.

xx


	24. Chapter 24

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

Minerva had once before seen Severus as pale and as frightened as he seemed to be now. And that once before had been he had come from he-who-must-not-be-named, after he had talked to Albus and the two of them had somehow figured it out between themselves and Severus had signed himself up as a spy. But he had been younger then, had almost looked like a boy, and now there were lines across his forehead, and his eyes were uncharacteristically wide.

Harry was sleeping more or less happily – had not seen that yellow confirmation Albus had explained her a few minutes ago, but had only leaned against Severus and he had to bring him to his bed for a nap. Even though, judging by the way he snored lightly, he might sleep through the entire night.

It was already past his bedtime anyway and when she cast a furtive glance towards his door – a door that stood slightly ajar – she certainly hoped so. Yes, they had cast modified Silencing Charms around but she did not want to imagine what the boy thought when he saw them huddled together, stacks of books between them, Albus and Severus rifling through them almost frantically. Well. Severus was frantic. Albus seemed calm but she knew the man. And that man wanted to rid the boy of the fragment of soul.

And the way she saw it, there was a way. A gruesome, but simple way.

"There is a potion," Severus said suddenly, his voice small and timid. And no, she had never heard his voice sound like that.

"A potion?" she asked, dragging her eyes away from the boy's door.

"It will trap his soul and that fragment of the part of the soul where it is at the moment. So if...we can make sure the fragment of the soul is in the scar and is not moving to another part of his body."

"And then we can...easily," Albus nodded. "How long?"

"Only two days," Severus read further, his finger following a line on the page. "Two days but I need Basilisk venom..."

"No problem," she whispered breathlessly. "Moira, my niece wrote to me that they received an order of all kinds of Basilisk parts. You know that she works in Shady Lane in Edinburgh?"

Severus nodded. "And you think..."

"I'll have it here by tomorrow night," she nodded again. "Albus, I will leave in the morning and go to..."

"Yes," he replied immediately, solemnly. "And Severus, you will brew it and...

There was a thumb from the boy's room, and all three of them looked up immediately but only Minerva had the good sense to cancel all the spells and disillusion the books stacking on the table. "Not a word now," she hissed, then thought fast. "And the second Hogsmeade weekend will be you and Septima Vector," she said, in a normal tone of voice just as the boy staggered out of his room, rubbing his eyes, his Puffskein scurrying behind him. He looked utterly adorable, Minerva thought, in his pyjamas with the little dragons, puffing smoke on them, his hair completely tussled. And in that moment, she didn't care that he might carry a piece of you-know-who around. In that moment, and for the rest of the time until they got rid of it, she would not treat him differently. He needed people around. Now more than ever, probably – especially since she knew what kind of things would happen to him in the next couple of days – and so, Minerva smiled and turned towards him, opening her arms wide.

He looked puzzled for a moment, before he flashed her a beautiful, albeit sleepy smile and rushed in her arms, scrambled on her lap and snuggled to her.

"Couldn't sleep anymore," he muttered softly and pressed the side of his head against her chest and played idly with her fingers that held him on her lap.

Severus said nothing – Albus said nothing. They just sat. Sat and could barely stop themselves from staring. Men. Seriously. He was no different than he had been a few hours ago – or the day before – or the week before. He was still the little boy who needed them. Who needed love. Who thought himself unlovable. He was still Harry who had suffered under his relatives. Nothing more, nothing less. And if those two men couldn't understand that, she would have to give the boy the love he needed.

Glared only briefly at her husband and Severus before she lowered her face to his hair and sniffed – and kissed the mop of hair. "Doesn't matter, sweet. Do you want me to read you a story?"

Harry nodded happily and – with a Featherlight Charm on Harry – she carried him back to his room.

xx

"She always wanted a child," Albus said pensively when Minerva had disappeared with the boy back into his room. "But there was always something. And when we truly tried, it didn't work. Just didn't fall pregnant."

Severus frowned. He truly had more important things to discuss at the moment than whether Minerva had ever been pregnant or not. Or whether she wanted children or not. Or had wanted children.

"Is this relevant?" he hissed.

"I think it might be," the Headmaster replied softly. "She will fight like a lioness to keep him sane and alive. As will I and so will you. She's right. He is the same boy he has been before. It changes nothing, apart from the fact that now we know and we can rid him from it."

"It changes..."

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing. We have a plan, we stick to it. Minerva goes to Shady Lane, Minerva brings back the venom, you meet with Augusta and her grandson and then begin to brew the potion. And with that, we can ensure that our plan goes according to plan."

"I'm not sure it will work," he said darkly, pensively, wanting nothing more than to go to bed with a good, large dose of Dreamless Sleep and forget this entire thing had happened. Forget all about it. Just forget and sleep and...

"It will work, Severus. What should go wrong?"

"I can think about a dozen things that could go wrong," he argued, hotly.

"Then think of the one thing that will go right," the Headmaster argued back and pointed at the disillusioned books. "You read it. You agreed. We will go through with this. But I have to agree with my wife. Don't treat him differently. It's only a few more days and he will be well rid of it."

Severus sighed, leaned back on the chair and closed his hurting eyes. What had he gotten into now?

xx

Harry had let out a small gasp of surprise when Minerva had put him on the bed and then, without hesitating, had pulled him to her, close, and had put his head on her lap. And without hesitating, she had begun stroking his hair. Just like that. This had never happened in his life before and Harry knew that he made noises like a small cat (one of Mrs Figg's, actually) when she began, in a soft and lovely voice, to speak.

"Once upon a time there was a little boy who lived with his mummy and his daddy," she began but Harry, no, he had to tell this. This had to get out.

"Minerva, 'fesser Sev'rus was weird this morning," Harry whispered.

"In Diagon Alley?" she asked immediately, but continued her stroking and it made him feel wonderfully safe.

"No, before. He looked at me oddly when you were there. Didn't you see?"

"Not really, sweetheart. Was he still weird in Diagon Alley?"

"Nu-uh," Harry shook his head carefully. Didn't want her to stop the stroking at all. This felt nice. More than nice. "He was normal again when we were there. Maybe he was still tired this morning?"

"I'm sure he was," she smiled, brushing her fingers over his forehead.

"Because he was brilliant later."

"Really?" she laughed. "What did you do? You haven't told me about it yet."

"First," he took a deep breath of air, "we went to the book store. And my Sev'rus picked three new books for me. They're over there on the shelf. And he picked up two books for himself."

"Hm," she nodded, smiling.

"And then we went to the apo-apo..."

"Apothecary?"

"Right. The apothecary and there we bought something for a potion but I can't remember the name of it. I think something with Boom and slang. Don't know and he didn't say what he needs it for but he said he will when we brew and he bought me my own cauldron! Did you see it yet? It's in his lab already, next to his. Do you want me to show you?"

"Tomorrow, Harry. I think you should stay in bed tonight. It is a bit late," she smiled gently and her fingers were still in his hair. Still! She hadn't gotten tired of it yet, hadn't pushed him away yet, hadn't told him yet to go to sleep. Just stroked his hair and sometimes a little his ears and his forehead.

"And a few stirrers and a mortar. That's what he bought me. Isn't he nice? I think he's very nice for buying me that. He got a bit angry when I told him that I didn't have any money to buy it and said it was a gift."

"That is very nice of him."

"And then we went to someone named Florean, I think. Or Florian? I don't know. And my 'fesser Sev'rus bought me an ice cream. I only had ice cream twice before because the ice cream man when we went out with Dudley and Piers asked me twice and Aunt Petunia told me it would have looked strange but not to expect it to happen again but this was much much much much much much better. And it was chocolate flavour and Botts Beans flavour but that tasted like peppermint and it was mango. I liked chocolate and mango best. Do you like mango?"

"I do," she grinned, tracing his eyebrows with her fingertips now.

"And theeeeeen. And theeeeen we went to Madam Malkin's. No, we went there first. Right, I forget. We first went to the clothes shop and that woman was really weird," Harry tried desperately to hide his yawn, "and I got some new clothes and they fit really well and I even got a robe and new trainers and a few jumpers and trousers and two new pairs of jeans and loads of socks because, my Sev'rus says that the Headmaster likes to give socks to people and that way, I'll have enough to last me a lifetime and they're black and grey and brown and white and he said that he couldn't understand how someone would want to wear purple socks with pink stars."

Minerva giggled. "Yes, Albus likes to give people strange socks. Make sure to tell him that you have enough."

"And after the clothes we went to the book store. And after the ice cream, we went to, erm," he yawned again, "I think we went to a sort of department store and my 'fesser bought stuff for the bed. My bed, I think. But he hasn't shown me yet. He said it was for later. And theeen...oh, and then we went to, er, what was it called? Mister Shoraz's Shoppe for Children. Oh! Yes, my Sev'rus bought me a magical puzzle. It gets bigger and bigger. First you have a few pieces and when you stick them to the right place, there will be more and then more and then more and theeeeen," he yawned again.

"A busy day, eh?" she smiled still.

"Uh-hu," he replied tiredly, his eyes growing heavier and heavier.

"Why don't you tell me the rest tomorrow, yes? I'm sure you've seen lots of things and I can't wait to hear them.

"Ho-kay," he whispered.

"Now close your eyes. I'll tell you the story."

"Yes, please," he yawned and settled back happily tighter on her lap. If only he could go to bed like this every night. Someone telling him a story and stroking his hair and, whispering that they loved him.

Well, if he woke up in the morning, he hoped he still remembered that wonderful dream of Minerva bringing him to bed and touching him and telling him a story and listening to him.

xx

She stared at the sleeping child – a child she had basically put to sleep by telling him a little story, only a snippet from what she remembered Lily had told at an Order meeting about Harry nibbling on the Magical Ficus and sprouting little horns on his forehead. Nothing special. And the boy had snuggled up to her, trustingly, leaning into her touch. Had avoided touching the scar but had tried her best to reassure him and now he slept there, the Puffskein he had named Rhubarb by his side. Peaceful – that was the word that described him best, really.

Oh she would so make sure that he was treated well. By everyone. With or without fragment's of you-know-who's scar stuck to his forehead. She would make damn sure of it.

Tiredly, Minerva dragged herself back to the living room, wanting to go to sleep but mustering one more glare at the two men, hunched over another book.

"Make sure Harry is safe and survives, otherwise I will kill you both," she hissed threateningly before she left Severus's and Harry's quarters quickly.

_**xx**_


	25. Chapter 25

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

His bed was usually a sanctuary. A place he could completely ignore that he was a feared teacher and that most of his colleagues had a couple of problems with his acidic, sarcastic way of commenting things. His bed was large, a four poster with soft coverings, a wonderfully squashy pillow that could be moulded around his head and that smelled like lavender. It was the place he could stretch his aching, tired limbs after a day of sweeping around the castle, blasting apart rosebushes to find students acting very disgraceful. It was a wonderful place. The most wonderful place on earth, if he had to choose between any and all places (though it might be a close call if he considered the potions lab). Made from oak, sturdy, solid, a relic from a time that seemed to be non-existent outside the Wizarding World. A heavy frame that led to cursing should the toe get into the way of it. Midnight blue hangings from the bed that he only rarely closed. Room enough for him and whatever books he had chosen to accompany him for a bit of reading before falling asleep. Room enough for parchment and a No-Spill-Quill. His bed was the place he could be himself and could just let himself fall into the lovely soft arms of sleep.

It wasn't now. Now it was like a sinking ship that he knew he had to be aboard to sink with. He had to endure this night, should be well rested when he knew exactly that he had reached the point when tiredness was only hindering restful sleep. He would have to either take a potion that would undoubtedly make him feel extremely irritable and grumpy the next morning or plough on through the night with little to no rest and just endure the thoughts that would come. The doubts over his decision, the fear – and the worry. Worry about the boy, worry about himself, worry about the future, worry. Worry that wouldn't be conducive to sleep either.

Their plan was so simple – with not many variables – but in his experience and opinion it was the simple plans that often went horribly, dreadfully, woefully wrong.

Albus knew that the sword of Gryffindor could destroy Horcruxes. Albus knew there was a potion that would contain the part of the Dark Lord's soul within the scar, that would trap it there even if it sense, somehow, danger. Albus only saw one simple conclusion. He had seen none other, Minerva had seen none other.

Harry would have to take the potion, Harry would get an additional sleeping potion as well which would hopefully not counteract the other, more complex one, would be put on some bench or bed and one of them would have to cut off the scar with the sword, then destroy the part of the soul in the scar.

Slicing the boy's head open with a sword that was a little taller than the boy himself. It was utter insanity. It was utterly risky. It was mad. Chopping off a part of Harry's forehead with an ancient, huge, heavy sword that nobody had wielded in centuries. Of course, if all went well, the boy was free of the soul-fragment and the stigma as well as the distinct marking the Dark Lord had done. If it didn't go well – no need to imagine all the horrible things.

Severus couldn't help wondering and there were pictures in his head – Harry beheaded, brain and blood oozing from a huge wound, possessed by the Dark Soul. Harry dying by his hand, through the potion, through the sword. Harry dying and with him the hope for a better world, for a world free of the Dark Lord. Harry Potter dying while being the ward of one Severus Snape.

No matter what happened then, what had happened before, what would happen after, this would be his death sentence. Even if the Ministry had so far kept uncharacteristically quiet. Even if it seemed the news had not leaked yet. He was a dead man either way if something went wrong.

And he was a dead man, most likely, if it went as planned. The Dark Lord eventually returning with more Horcruxes they had not yet found or destroyed and realising he had a hand in destroying at least one other Horcrux, and an important one at that, he could be glad, he would be only hit by an Avada Kedavra. If the Dark Lord found out, all that would remain left of him would be – probably a hipbone.

He knew however, that leaving this all as it was now, was no option at all. He couldn't let Harry carry the burden of another piece of soul that was not his own. Merlin knew what it would do to the boy. Merlin knew what it had done to the boy.

He had to admit, with some trepidation, that he felt a lump of envy in his stomach. The way Minerva had been able to cast all this aside and had brought him to bed, had told him a story, the way she had listened to him telling her about going to the trip to Diagon Alley – the praising of him – was quite admirable. He should have been able to do it. He should have told the boy that he had indeed still been grumpy that morning and that that had been the reason for him staring. Nothing else. He should have made sure that the boy was sleeping peacefully and not Minerva. Harry was his ward, not Minerva's. He should have done all that.

He paced in his bedroom. From the wardrobe to the small chest of drawer, passing the bookcase, all from the same wood, and back the same way. It was all solid, it was that kind of furniture that would be there long after he had left that earth. It wouldn't do to kick it with his foot or bang his fist against it – he would hurt himself more. And magic never worked when it came to getting out his emotions – and that left pacing. Running, more like, barefoot on the cold flagstones.

He could read still, Albus had left some books in his care, he could try and make sure he was decently prepared to brew the potion, or he could try to sleep. And in the end, he would probably do all of it.

xx

Harry could see immediately that the poor man had not slept very well. He was pale and there were circles underneath his eyes and those were dark blue and purple. Not pretty at all and Harry wondered briefly whether his 'fesser had had a nightmare or couldn't sleep. He would have asked, actually, had it not been for the fact that there was suddenly a woman and a little boy, a bit taller than him and a bit chubbier, standing in their quarters. That had to be, he surmised, Mrs Longbottom and her grandson. Ne-something or other. The other boy smiled a little shyly and hid, mostly behind his grandmother. Just as Harry only dared to take peeks at the woman. She seemed tall but of course wasn't nearly as tall as his Sev'rus and she wore a funny hat and a funny handbag and funny clothes.

"I'd've never expected _you_ to take the boy in," the strange woman suddenly said but Harry was focused on the other boy. He looked nice. Like someone who would not be friends with Dudley easily. Or rather someone, who would be picked on by Dudley as well. "Well Harry Potter," the woman suddenly thundered and came towards him so that he scooted back immediately behind his 'fesser, "I'm Mrs Longbottom, there is no need to be afraid. I will make wizards out of you and Neville yet."

Harry nodded silently and didn't dare to look the woman in the eye. She seemed very strict, not at all like Minerva or his 'fesser. More like a teacher you didn't want to cross at all. But Sev'rus had said that she would teach him so maybe this was the purpose for her to be scary. Miss Trask had never been scary. If she had been, maybe Dudley wouldn't have been such a bully. Maybe he could have learned more easily. Even Dudley would be afraid of that woman there. Mrs Longbottom.

He said the name in his head slowly. Mrs Longbottom. He knew he would have to at least greet her. "Hello Mrs Long-bottom," he whispered shyly.

She came towards him and seized his face in her hands, a heavy gold wedding ring on her finger. "Has he shown signs yet?" she asked impatiently, looking up to his 'fesser.

"Yes," his Sev'rus said slowly and in that voice that he knew scared other people but was there for his reassurance.

"Well good. My Neville here hasn't. We're thinking he might even be a S-Q-U-I-B," she said those letters, not the strange word. S-Q-U-I-B. He painted the letters in his head as he had learned and tried then to read. Squib. What a strange, strange word. Maybe he had said it wrong.

"Hmmmm," his Sev'rus hummed. "Will you teach him?"

"Of course I will teach him!" she said very, very loudly. "The opportunity for Neville to learn from the fam..."

"No," his Sev'rus said. "Do not mention it."

The woman stood up straight again and blinked owlishly at his 'fesser. "Why not?"

The poor boy, Neville, stood there and looked very frightened and because Harry understood that you could be easily frightened by people, and it seemed Mrs Longbottom was someone to be afraid of, and his 'fesser was, if you didn't know him, he stepped forward slowly and smiled at the boy. "Hullo," he said.

"'lo," the boy replied and he had a kind voice. Soft and gentle. As if he couldn't harm anything. He didn't seem like someone who would try and smash ladybugs with a heavy stone. Not at all.

"I'm Harry," he added.

"'M Neville," replied the boy. "My gran says she's going to teach you too."

"Yeah, I think so. Cos my 'fesser can't. He doesn't have the time because he has to teach other dunderheads in this school."

"Your dad looks scary," whispered the boy and Harry shook his head immediately, whipping his head around to see if his Sev'rus had heard this but he was still talking to Mrs Longbottom.

"He's not my dad," he explained. "He's my 'fesser. Or my Sev'rus. He's 'fesser Snape, I think, officially. My dad died."

"My dad's in St Mungo's," Neville said sadly.

"What's that?"

"It's a hospital, I think."

"Is your dad sick?"

Neville shrugged one shoulder but looked as if he was about to cry. "Not really. He just doesn't know me. He and my mum. They were to-dshured by someone, and then they lost their minds. Says my gran. When we visit them, they don't know who I am."

"Oh," Harry's eyes were wide. He wasn't sure what was better – dead parents or parents who didn't remember their son.

"And Mum only ever gives me a gum wrapper. I don't know. Gran cries a lot when we get home but she thinks I don't see her, so I never say anything."

"That's not good. Do you wanna go play with Peeves? I'm sure my 'fesser and your gran won't mind."

"What's a Peeves? And why do you live here?"

"Peeves is a Poltergeist. He's my friend. And I live here because my aunt and uncle didn't like me," he declared solemnly and then, feeling very courageous, coughed and when his 'fesser was still talking to the woman, he trotted over and tugged on his sleeve.

"What is it?" his Sev'rus asked gently.

"Erm, can, I mean, may Neville and I go on the corridor and play with Peeves?" he asked quietly, not looking at Mrs Longbottom.

"Yes," he nodded. "But you know the wards and you will not even try to leave the corridors. I know you tried to bounce your way through them."

Harry had to giggle. His 'fesser Sev'rus was too too funny at times. "Bouncing is fun," he giggled, then waved at Neville who smiled broadly and followed him out the door into the corridor.

"Peeves!" Harry shouted and a moment later, looked at his new-found friend. "You don't have to be afraid of him. He'll make fun of you for a while but if you tell him you want to be his friend, he stops. And he looks a bit odd but don't ask him. If you ask him, he gets all huffy and vanished. He can vanish. Oh, and he floats," he added in a whisper when he heard the tell-tale zooming.

"Hairy Wee Harry!" the Poltergeist cried. "And another wee one. But my my, you have your mother's face. And your father's hair. Longbottom has a big bottom," he sang.

"Peeves, Neville is my friend," said Harry sternly.

"Neville is a devil..."

The boy stepped forward and Harry could see a gleam in his eyes, something he couldn't quite explain, but he stood a little taller and said, loudly, clearly, "I want to be your friend, Peeves," just as Harry told him to do and the Poltergeist looked rather strangely again, a little green in his face.

"Now you have two friends!" Harry cried happily.

"I should seem strange, to see the boys, they'll make a change, he not destroys," said Peeves pensively, scratching his chin.

"What does that mean?" Neville asked curiously, stepping back next to Harry.

"I dunno. He always says strange stuff like that and he never explains."

"Never explains, never complains," Peeves laughed shrilly. "Surprise, surprise, the saviours in disguise."

"Never mind him," Harry shook his head. "I think he's one of his weird days."

"No no, not weird, it's all cleared, Hairy Wee Harry and Little Devil Neville," he still laughed. "Will be no problem with friends like."

Harry shook his head. "Wanna go explore the two corridors?"

Neville nodded happily and smiled and Harry was glad that for once, there was another boy who dared to play with him.

xx

That woman was sitting there, sipping tea happily in Severus's quarters when Minerva came in with a carefully wrapped package of Basilisk venom. It had taken some wheedling and even a minor threat of blackmailing (poor Moira, but this had to be done) but she had gotten it. The first step was completed. Severus would have to get brewing soon. The sooner, the better.

She hadn't slept well and now Augusta there? Minerva could truly imagine nicer things to see in the mornings. Or afternoons. Or evenings. Oh she liked Augusta alright. When Augusta was absent. Minerva couldn't even remember when her dislike of her had started. Probably back in their first year at Hogwarts. They'd never been friends and when Augusta had started all that gossip about her and Albus, it had been time for a serious hexing. Hadn't been able to help it. Woman had it coming. Nevertheless, there had always been respect. And always a light correspondence between them – more like insults going back and forth by owl but Minerva had to admit that she was in an age where she could appreciate it. A lot.

"Augusta," she said sharply.

"Minerva," the woman said sharply back and Minerva was slightly amused by the wary glance Severus cast in both their directions, first at her, then Augusta.

"I have what we needed," said Minerva and handed him the package.

"I see," Severus replied and it was plain to see that he was afraid of brewing the potion, making a mistake, not knowing the outcome.

"I think I'll come back later," she said solemnly. "And send Harry up if you..."

"I will," he nodded.

"And you, Augusta," she scrutinised the woman. "You will take good care of Harry. And rethink the millinery catastrophe on your head."

Minerva smirked, and before the other woman could reply anything – anything at all – she had left Severus's and Harry's quarters again.

_**xx**_


	26. Chapter 26

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx  
**_

Harry James Potter was worried. It was almost a new feeling for him. So far in his life, he had only been a bit worried about himself but never to this extent. Not like this. Not like he was feeling now. Now it was – well – very strange. He was truly, truly worried.

Everything had been quite normal, even though he had spent most of the day with Minerva and Neville and Neville's gran. And mostly with Neville and Minerva because Neville's gran always had gone to talk to someone or to look at something because, well, Harry had the feeling that Neville's gran didn't quite like Minerva. He couldn't understand why. Minerva was so awesome and she gave out free cuddles and hugs whenever he longed for one. She seemed to sense it really and he had just been allowed to storm to her and hug her. He wouldn't dare to do this with his 'fesser Sev'rus but then again, women cuddled more than men anyhow.

He had come home then (after Minerva and him had their tea together) and 'fesser Sev'rus had sent him to the bathroom and he had taken a long bath, playing with the little submarine that was next to the tub and that could really dive and swim under the water around him. His pyjamas were already in the bathroom and he knew that his bedtime was soon anyhow and so he changed into them immediately.

But then – when he had come out of the bath, his hair still dripping wet and himself squeaky clean, he was instantly worried.

His Sev'rus sat on the couch, his eyes staring straight ahead, a book in his lap and he was incredibly pale. He looked as if he had seen a ghost. Even though he probably had and that was not what made him look like that. He looked as if he had seen – something horrible. He barely noticed that he should have put on socks, the cold seeping into his feet when he saw his 'fesser sitting there like that. It was frightful, it was terrible and all he could think about was the fact that he had to do something.

Anything.

And so, because he trusted his instincts and what he had already experienced now, he rushed, barefoot, to his Sev'rus and threw himself on the couch next to him and without thinking, he pushed the book off his lap and climbed up on his lap and wrapped his little arms tightly around his neck and pressed his cheek next to the man's. Something was odd because at first, he didn't react at all. Not at all. And only when Harry pressed himself even tighter to his Sev'rus, just as Minerva had done with him, he felt arms slowly going around himself as well.

He wanted to tell his 'fesser something, anything, but he couldn't think what to say. There was nothing. He just didn't let go. Not letting go was the most important thing when hugging, he had learned in the past days. He hated when Minerva let go when the hug wasn't finished yet. It had to be finished properly. And so, because he didn't know any better, he just had his arms around his neck, his cheek pressed to his, and he tried not to breathe too loudly into his 'fesser's ear.

And suddenly, a minute later that Harry tried hard not to move at all, his Sev'rus's arms tightened a lot around him. It was just short of being painful and just felt so – safe. Then, his 'fesser sort of moved his head a little and Harry's head fell against his neck and the man's cheek or nose or something rested on Harry's head and now he could feel his Sev'rus's breath between his hair.

This was strange. His Sev'rus had never held him tighter and he had never felt this way. It felt like his Sev'rus needed to hold him, somehow. At least it felt like this until one of the dragons on his pyjama roared softly and he felt the arms around his back slowly going to his sides and he felt himself lifted back a little so he could sit on his 'fesser's knee and he saw his eyes on his.

Harry kept his gaze, just as the 'fesser didn't blink either and while Harry didn't understand it, he knew that something had happened to Sev'rus. Something he couldn't grasp. Something that worried him and scared him and made him want to cuddle him even more.

"You have your mother's eyes," his Sev'rus said very, very quietly and Harry gasped.

"I d-d-do?" he asked, just as quietly.

"Yes."

"D-d-did you know my mother well?" Harry asked cautiously.

Sev'rus looked at him still, unblinking, still holding on to his sides, Harry noticed and he decided that he had to smile a little. Just a tiny, tiny smile.

"She was my friend," he whispered.

Harry felt his eyes widen and then blinked rapidly, pulling his lower lip in between his teeth. He didn't dare to say anything and all that could be heard for a long, long moment was the ticking of the old grandfather clock. His Sev'rus and his mummy had been friends. Friends.

"She was the kindest person I have ever met," he explained very softly, his eyes never leaving Harry's. "And very bright. She understood things very quickly. Nobody had to explain anything twice. She was very interested in everything around her and everything was new for her and she listened. She always listened. And she loved, easily. She was...very passionate, very strong-willed. She never needed anyone to protect her, she always did that herself. She always stood up for herself and for those she li...liked."

Harry could see his eyes leaving his and staring into the distance again for a while. He knew it was better to just sit in silence but when his Sev'rus's left hand fell from his side and onto the couch, he quickly bent down and he could pick it up easily and hold it between his own. It was one of those moments, he felt, that his 'fesser couldn't be hugged. His head, his mind, was too far away but Harry knew that he had to hold his hand. He didn't know why, or if he was doing this only for himself because he had, for the first time, heard anything positive about his mum, and because he thought he could feel a connection between his mum and his Sev'rus, and between himself and his mum when he held Sev'rus's hand.

And suddenly, on impulse, he turned on Sev'rus's lap, but quickly transferring his hand so he could still hold onto it. He scooted, then leaned back against his 'fesser's chest, glad that somehow, his other, large hand had found its way up to his chest, resting there, making him feel utterly protected.

He still didn't know what to say, didn't know how to ask for more. Wanted to hear more, wanted to get to know his mummy, but somehow, he felt that his Sev'rus had to talk to him and asking him wouldn't get him anything. He just rested against his chest, playing idly with the fingers on his hand, not saying anything, just hearing him breathe and hearing his 'fesser breathe and the ticking of the clock and once in a while, a soft roaring of one of the dragons on his jammies.

xx

He didn't notice Harry falling asleep resting against his chest, on his lap. He only noticed that he had stopped playing with his fingers and that his breathing evened and was deeper but he couldn't bring himself to leave the place on the couch yet.

Brewing had been tough. Tougher than anything he had ever done before – but maybe that had just been him, knowing what it was for. What it would do. What was at stake. And Harry had seen him, sitting there, staring, lost in thought and had, somehow, just come to him and had hugged him. Just like that. Had instinctively known – better than he himself had – what he had needed in that moment. It had just blurted out of him when he had seen those eyes again. Memory after memory flooding his brain. It was always those eyes of his friend staring back at him and he had to tell him something. Harry had a right to know about his mother. His wonderful, lovely mother.

He felt his arms tighten around Harry briefly, his sleep peaceful, his head resting securely on his chest and Severus had to push back tears, stinging at the back of his eyes.

xx


	27. Chapter 27

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx **_

"The boy is not that stupid!" Severus exclaimed, the full vial of potion that stood on the desk vibrating every time he banged his fist on the wooden surface.

"And what do you suggest we tell him?" Albus asked back, slightly testily. "Sorry, Harry, you have a bit of soul stuck to your forehead?"

"No, of course not," Severus argued. "But you can't just tell him nothing. If you expect me to give him the potion without telling him anything what will happen to him, you're mistaken," he growled.

"And what is your solution then?"

"We will tell him, I will tell him, that we need to fix the scar. That we need to remove it because it might – might! - carry a curse that will do...something in the future," he improvised.

"Fine," Albus smiled good-naturedly again and in that moment, Severus was close to hexing the old man. Condescending old codger. An argument that lasted thirty seconds. Nothing more and it annoyed Severus to no end.

"Fine;" he snapped, "we'll be back here in an hour. And then go can go ahead and kill the boy."

He turned on his heel and left the office quickly. Had just gone up to bring the potion, and to ask what to tell the boy. Nobody, truly nobody could expect Harry just to ingest a potion he didn't know. And he certainly wouldn't be the one to tell him he should take it without knowing what it was. The boy deserved an explanation. The boy deserved to know a little something. And if he had to spin a more believable tale, then so be it.

Severus stormed down to the dungeons, angry at the way Dumbledore thought he could just tell people what to do and withhold any bit of information. Probably thought he could obliviate Harry after they had removed the scar and the part of the soul. But he would not have his ward obliviated. This could seriously damage the child and his ability to think. This would not happen at all. Would not lead him like a lamb to slaughter without explaining that he was being led to – something.

He opened the door to his quarters and found the child where he had left him – sitting at Severus's desk, colouring but the moment he heard the door, he looked up and smiled.

It was odd, really, since that night when Harry had fallen asleep on his lap, only one and a half days ago, he could feel, somehow, that the boy trusted him – and probably, maybe, perhaps, even loved him in a little boy's way and his eyes gleamed when he saw him.

"Hello," he said cheerfully.

"Harry," he sighed and conjured a chair to sit next to him. "I have to explain something."

"Oh. What?" he knew he had his interest now.

"You spent today and yesterday with Minerva..."

"You said you had a very important potion to brew," Harry interrupted.

"Yes. And that potion was for you," he continued and the boy, suddenly, lost all cheerfulness and stared at him wide-eyed.

"Why?"

"Your scar," he said.

"My scar?" he touched his forehead cautiously. "I've had it since my parents died."

Severus nodded. "You remember when I told you how your parents died?" the boy nodded and so he continued. "This scar, as I told you, is from that wizard as well and we think that there might be a curse in it."

Harry only blinked slowly but said nothing.

"And we want to remove the scar."

"What is a curse in a scar? What does it do?" he asked in a little voice.

"It might," he began slowly, his brain working at triple speed, "erm, cause you to become a girl later on," he choked out. It was the best he could make up – and the reason was rotten – but, as he observed Harry, he knew that he somehow, instinctively, had said the right thing.

"A girl?" he shrieked and scratched the scar. "I don't wanna be a girl. Can a scar do that? I want it off. Can you make it go away? I don't want to be a girl. Girls are stupid. Girls are..."

"That's why I was making the potion," he explained and if the situation hadn't been that horrible, if it had been anything else, he might have felt tempted to laugh at the boy's revulsion to be a girl. Instead, he only looked at him. "And if you like, we can get rid of the curse today."

"Today?"

"Today. Soon. In about an hour."

"What will you do?" he asked, fearfully. "Only give me the potion?"

Again, Severus had to think. Quick. "We will give you the potion and another potion so you can sleep through it and when you wake up, the curse will be gone."

"It will be gone? And I won't be a girl, ever? I can stay a boy?" asked Harry and Severus nodded solemnly.

"But who is we?" he continued to ask.

"Minerva and me," he explained and tried to sound as gentle as he could. "And the Headmaster."

Harry looked at him quizzically, his lip pulled between his teeth. "Can you do it?" he asked shyly.

Severus would always remember that moment, he knew, when the boy had looked up at him, his green eyes shining with unconditional trust and admiration, His chin slightly up, his lips in not quite a smile yet and his hands fidgeting in his lap. He would never, possibly, forget the moment when he could see, without Legilimency or any other form of magic, that Harry trusted him most in his small world. That boy, that child, Harry, sitting there in his black trousers and blue t-shirt, so innocent. So not like James Potter. So like his mother. And he was playing with, he was risking her most precious treasure. And her most precious treasure was in his care, trusted him.

He nodded solemnly before he could fall deeper into the spiral of thoughts. "Yes, I will do it," he explained.

xx

His Sev'rus had reassured him that it wouldn't be dangerous. It would just be like sleeping without dreams, like a good, long rest and he had even been able to make 'fesser Sev'rus promise that he could stay up later because he would be taking a long nap during the day. And that, at least, was something.

Still, he had to put his hand into his 'fesser's as they walked up together to that beautiful office where Minerva sometimes worked and he could feel, or thought he could feel, a tiny shiver or tremble going through the man's fingers and that made him look up, in front of a portrait of a limping cowherderess with long, blonde pigtails on either side of her head and made him pull on his 'fesser's hand.

Harry smiled. His 'fesser seemed to be more scared than him, really and he looked down at Harry and his eyes were darker than usual and he seemed worried. "I really don't want to be a girl," he explained. "And you will stop that," he added reassuringly.

"Yes," his 'fesser replied simply and Harry began walking again, up the spiral staircase and into the office, never letting go of his Sev'rus's hand. The room was as beautiful as it ever was, the hat, on the shelf seemed to nod at him and he heard a faint, 'hello Harry' coming from somewhere. But as he saw Minerva standing there, next to the Headmaster, he smiled at his 'fesser and ran straight to her, hugging her around her middle. She seemed to be worried as well. They were all worried. But if it wasn't dangerous, why were they?

Oh – maybe they'd prefer a girl instead of him. Maybe...well.

"Do you want a girl?" he asked, pressing his chin against Minerva's tummy.

"A girl?" she asked, looking at him and then at his 'fesser. She said nothing for a while, then suddenly, broke out in a smile and hugged him tight. "No, I don't want a girl. I want you to be okay. And only you. No girl."

"Girls can be very, very difficult," the Headmaster chuckled. "Even more so than boys."

Harry's head whipped around. He wasn't sure what he thought of the Headmaster yet. In his head, at least, he was always the Headmaster and not Albus as he had been told to call him. Sometimes, the Headmaster could be nice – and sometimes, he looked at him strangely. Always directly in his eyes and never blinking, his eyes always twinkling weirdly.

"But Minerva is a girl and she's not difficult," he argued quickly and rested his head against her tummy. He could feel her hand running through his hair and he loved when she did that but then there was another hand, no, two, one on his neck and the other on his shoulder. And both were just steadily holding and not stroking like Minerva did. His 'fesser Sev'rus. He was almost in a hugging sandwich between the two people he loved most in the world. With all the strength he had, he pulled Minerva back slightly, and then leaned back himself, his back resting against his 'fesser and his front resting against Minerva.

"Shall we?" he heard the Headmaster say and Harry wanted to groan. He wanted a moment longer between his Sev'rus and his Minerva. Just a moment. And another moment. And another one.

"'Main 'en, wee laddie, let's gie thes ower wi'," she whispered and she, as well as 'fesser Sev'rus pulled away.

"Can you lay down here?" the Headmaster asked, pointing at a large sofa that hadn't been there before.

"And then I only have to drink two potions and then I sleep and then I will never be a girl, right?" he asked, seeking reassurance and looking at his 'fesser.

"Yes," he said gently and nodded.

"M'kay," he nodded then and slowly, he walked to the large, red sofa, and sat down. It was comfortable, more like a bed, really and when he saw Minerva and his 'fesser Sev'rus approaching, he lay down, smiling. He trusted Minerva and Sev'rus. They would take good care of him and even though the first potion tasted like earthworm and the second tasted like something he never wanted to taste again, he knew that he would be watched over.

xx

"A girl?" Minerva asked, incredulously as the boy began to snore softly.

"What should I've said?" he snarled back.

"Anything. But you said there was a curse that would turn him into a girl?"

"Yes," he drawled. "Can we get this over with? I don't know how long the potions will last together.

She nodded, and felt her hands shaking viciously. Severus, she noticed, wasn't faring much better, he was pale and looked drawn and tired and his his hands behind his back or in his sleeves but he had stepped as close to her as he had ever been, just to reassure the boy. Just to lend some support to the one they would be slicing open in a moment. In that moment, in fact, Albus returned from Merlin knew where with Fawkes – and a huge sword in his hand, his expression so grave – had never seen it that way in the past, well, 6 years. His hands were not shaking, or maybe he was just concealing it better but he kept his eyes clearly on the boy, sleeping on the now transfigured cot.

He looked so sweet, so innocent, so normal. Even after Severus had brushed his hair away from the scar, even though she knew what he carried with him. He was just a little boy, taking a nap in black trousers and a blue t-shirt (she would have to tell Severus to get some colour into Harry's wardrobe, really), black socks on his little feet and his hands pressed to fists be his sides.

"I'll do it," Severus said, breaking the silence a moment later.

"No, I will," Albus said sternly.

"I promised him. I'm his guardian. He wants me to do it," said Severus through clenched teeth.

She watched them glaring at one another, Albus holding tightly to the sword, Severus probably very tempted to pull his wand from his sleeve. She was very close to just storm forward and take the bloody sword from her husband and do it herself. Very close. Her eyes must have gleamed and she must have radiated anger and she knew, her hands suddenly steadying, that she should be indeed the one to do it. Severus would kill himself if something went wrong, Albus would bury himself in the library or his office. And both of them were vital to the fight against you-know-who. She was expendable. She would hole herself up, she knew, in case anything went wrong, but she could deal with guilt better than those two men. She would be devastated, yes, she would probably fling herself off the Astronomy tower, yes, but because she wanted the best for the boy, because she loved him. Her eyes hardened when she stepped between the two men.

"Hand it over," Minerva said, her voice cold and threatening and in that moment, she didn't even care about her brogue. She raised her arm, her hand towards her husband and while she heard Severus protest faintly, she saw something like resignation in Albus's eyes.

"And you sit with Harry, Severus. Hold his hand. Albus, you bring Fawkes, at his head," she said sternly, taking control.

"I promised him," Severus protested softly.

"And you will protect him," she smiled gently before she turned back to her husband. "Albus, the sword, please."

Very slowly, very hesitantly, very carefully, he raised the sword. It was beautiful. It was magnificent and when she touched it with her fingertips, she felt a strong, magical surge running through her, similar to what she had felt when she had bought her first wand, tingling from her fingers, running through her bloodstream, rushing to her head and into her heart.

Albus arched an eyebrow. The feeling the sword had provoked in her must somehow have shown. "Head of Gryffindor," he muttered, "Of course."

"Aye," she growled. "Fawkes? Severus? Albus?"

xx

He had been degraded to watching. Just watching how Minerva sliced his ward open. He wanted to stop her, he wanted to just grab the sword and do it himself – but there had been that golden glimmer when her fingertips had touch the sword and while he still wanted to do it himself, as he had promised, he couldn't help but see a very powerful witch standing there, a sword by her side, slightly raised, and he knew, if Harry was safe in someone's hands apart from his own, it was hers.

She loved the boy. She loved the boy.

She would be careful.

He conjured a chair, and sat on it, quite hesitant to hold the boy's hand but one stern glance of Minerva's later, he did. He couldn't explain it but with the sword in her hand, she did radiate might. She radiated power. She radiated the essentials of witchdom.

Fawkes perched on the cot besides Harry's head, Albus sitting on a chair, much like his by the boy's head and whipped his wand out, moving his lips silently.

The same yellow light Severus had seen days before appeared on Harry's forehead, shining, an unnatural colour, no nice yellow, horrible, greenish, sickly yellow, he thought. "It's trapped," the Headmaster whispered and Minerva stepped on the boy's side, the sword in her hand, a ray of sunlight falling on it, blinding Severus for a moment, blinding Albus the next and she knelt down on the floor, stroked the boy's forehead.

"All will be well," she whispered and brought the sword to the boy's forehead and with a swift stroke, just one stroke, the piece of skin with the scar was cut off his forehead and fell on the ground next to the cot where Minerva, with a determined expression, stuck the sword into it multiple times.

There should have been screams or loud noises or church bells or alarm bells or an ambulance or any noise at all – but even Fawkes was silent, the bird's head bent over Harry's, weeping, Severus saw, silent tears on the wound which closed immediately.

The scar was gone – but Harry's hand, which Severus still held, had suddenly gone very, very cold and Harry's chest was neither rising nor falling anymore.

_**xx **_


	28. Chapter 28

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx **_

"Albus," she heard Severus cry – as if in agony, as if in pain, as if wounded and she looked up from where she had stabbed the piece of flesh with the sword. There was, curiously, absolutely no blood. Nothing except a tiny shriek she had maybe heard when the sword had connected first with it. However, Minerva dropped the sword immediately at his cry and stared at Harry. The wound was closed, his forehead, thanks to Fawkes's tears was only a forehead, unblemished, unmarked but the boy wasn't breathing.

The boy wasn't breathing.

"Albus!" she cried as well, scooting closer to Harry on her knees, taking his other hand, the one Severus was not holding – well, shaking. It was cold. His hand was very, very cold.

"Albus, do something!" she cried.

"I don't..." her husband said and pointed his wand at the boy who lay so still. "Ennervate!" he shouted and a moment, filled with panic, filled with the utmost fear, passed. She could feel her heart beating in her chest, in her neck, in her toes, even, everywhere. It was like she had jumped into the Black Lake in the dead of winter, everything cold and yet, her heart beating as if it was fighting for her life.

She wasn't sure what was happening, what she was doing when she clutched Harry's hand to her chest, she saw faintly that Severus wasn't faring any better and that he had held the boy's hand tightly to his. He lay there, just lay there, stretched arms and pale and...looked like he was dead.

She had killed him.

"Ennervate!" Albus shouted again and she merely shook her head.

"It's not helping," she whispered, and her heart had probably stopped. It wasn't helping. She had killed the boy – she had killed Harry Potter.

But in that moment, there was a groan – a groan that was not coming from Albus or Severus and as she looked at the boy, he bucked and drew a long, shuddering breath. Nothing more, one long, shuddering breath after a groan.

"What's happening?" Severus asked voicelessly, the boy's hand still pressed to his chest.

"I don't know. I don't know," Albus muttered and all three of them stared at the boy's chest. It was falling, then rising. Then falling. And rising.

Not evenly but it did. He breathed.

"I can feel his pulse again," Severus whispered and Minerva bit her lip hard, bit her lower lip with as much strength as she had.

"Och God," she mumbled. "Och God, och God, och God."

"He's..." Albus couldn't finish the sentence.

"Harry? Harry, wake up, sweetheart," she bent forwards, not understanding and not caring to understand as long as the boy kept breathing, as long as the boy opened his eyes and soon. "Harry? It's Minerva, can you hear me? Open your eyes, love."

Severus let go off the hand and stood up from the chair he had sat on. He looked utterly bewildered, afraid, scared, tens of thousands of emotions probably running through him. She knew. She felt the same way. Harry had not been breathing, Harry had not had a pulse, Harry had been cold, Harry had been dead. Harry had...taken a breath after two strong Ennervates and now Harry was breathing and his heart was beating and though Minerva always prided herself on being strong and sensible and level-headed and brave, in that moment, she felt anything but. She was confused and agitated and aggravated and so many things. She couldn't, however, let go off Harry's hand and she couldn't get up from her kneeling position and she couldn't...she couldn't do anything. Well, she did one thing – resting her head on the cot next to Harry's, next to his unblemished, still pale forehead. And she could press a kiss to his cheek, gently and carefully.

xx

His fault. And his fault alone. It was his fault that Harry had been dead, or almost dead, or lifeless, it was his fault that his breathing was still hitched and that he didn't open his eyes. It was his fault if he didn't wake. It was his fault that Minerva half knelt, half lay and cried. It was all his fault.

If he hadn't run to the Dark Lord with the prophecy.

If he hadn't run to Petunia Evans to get the boy out of her evil clutches.

If he hadn't let the boy play with Peeves.

If he hadn't brewed the potion.

If he hadn't let Minerva wield the sword.

If...

He bit his lip, hard, and stepped closer to the bed again, it was his fault and he had to take care of the boy. Harry was his responsibility. Officially. And he wanted, he had to, he would...just get him to wake up. It was probably still the sleeping potion, he could probably brew a simple antidote and give it to him, he could...do anything. Everything in his power to keep the boy alive. To make sure he was fine afterwards. He had to. He just had to.

Otherwise...

Apart from all the obvious things, the added, unbearable guilt he would carry around for the rest of his life, he couldn't lose the boy. Not like that and not any other way. He could not lose the boy.

"I...," he stuttered, not thinking clearly, and bent down, brushing a fingertip over Harry's cheek before he slipped his arms underneath his neck and behind his knees and not seeing the puzzled, bewildered glance Minerva shot him, he picked him up and pressed him to his chest.

"Severus, what..." he ignored all of that. He didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to take him to a Healer, he didn't want to go anywhere but one place.

"Harry needs his own bed," he said voicelessly and carried him, carefully and cautiously and never taking his eyes off him.

xx

Minerva felt the tears streaming down her face. She sat huddled in that huge bed she called her marital bed, in her nightgown with her knees pulled up to her chest, her arms going around her legs and if she had been in any state to really think about it, she would have wondered how she could manage such a position still – at her age. Such as it was, she could only think about the lifeless body of Harry and the way Severus had carried him away and the way he refused to open his door later. The way he had probably sat by the boy's bed for almost a day, it seemed, now, and the way she had not heard anything. Neither positive, nor negative. Just nothing.

And Albus had buried himself in books again. Why was it, she thought, that if he needed her, she was there for him without questioning and when she was alone, when she blamed herself, at least partially, for what was happening to the boy, he wasn't there, he preferred books? Not even a hug. Nothing. Just a 'I'll go to the library, Minerva'. Nothing else.

She heard, rather then felt, the sob escaping her mouth and lay her head on her knees, the nightgown pulled over them, down to her ankles, her feet cold on top of the duvet, the pillow between her back and the headboard of the bed. She couldn't remember how long she had sat there, crying more or less hard, how long her thoughts went down one spiral after the other, thinking thoughts worse and worse.

Severus would kill himself if something happened to that boy. And she would...she had swung the sword. Had felt so confident when she had touched it, like nothing could go wrong, almost reckless, almost too secure and maybe she had been too fast. Maybe she should have taken more time, been more careful.

Maybe she should have just let Albus do it.

Maybe, she thought looking up from her huddled position, she should take a potion after all. The sun was almost coming up already though and that school, despite everything, had to be run. Only two weeks until the students returned in any case. And so many things to do and she couldn't think.

Minerva angrily wiped at her cheeks when she heard the door creaking but couldn't summon up the energy to slide down and pretend to be asleep. Let Albus see her like this, she thought, and have him feel guilty.

"Oh Minerva," he whispered, looking just as tired and sad as she felt, "I thought you had taken a potion long before."

She shook her head, unable to speak. He should know her better than that though. She wasn't someone to chuck a potion every time something hit her. He should know.

Her husband quickly moved to the bed, slipped off his shoes and scrambled into bed next to her, immediately trying to wrap his arms around her and at first, because she didn't think clearly, she resisted, struggled against him. "If I had known..." he whispered but she merely shook her head, wiping away fresh tears.

"It's almost morning but we can sleep for an hour or two," he continued, his arms stronger than she anticipated around her, drawing her to him and she inhaled deeply. Lemons, dust, old books, ink. This was the way her husband smelled like. This was what she should have had eight hours ago when she had tried to go to sleep. Strong arms around her and that smell that was so Albus and her head tucked underneath his chin and resting against his chest, hearing his even heartbeat.

"He will be fine, darling," he whispered softly in her ear, pulling her down on the bed, lying down next to her, "his body was used to the scar and to the soul and now it has to regenerate."

"What if he wakes up?" she asked, her voice shaking but feeling, despite herself, and despite the fact that she wanted to be angry with her husband, consoled already.

"He will wake up, my love. He will. I promise he will," he stroked her hair gently and rubbed her back with his other hand, tightly wrapped in his arms and she remembered why she had married him. She remembered why she loved him. And she remembered that he loved her. In moments like this.

"Try and sleep a bit now, alright?"

She nodded against his chest and let her eyes, her hurting, gritty eyes fall shut, inhaling deeply his scent and holding onto him.

xx

It was odd. The castle seemed quieter in the past one or two days, really. Septima had often wandered around it in between preparing lessons, always keeping herself in the shadows but there was nobody. She did not run into a single person. She had rather expected the castle to fill up with other instructors by now – it was less than two weeks until the students returned. Even the ghosts kept from her. Or not, she wasn't sure. She at least, didn't see anyone and she had even ventured into the Great Hall for dinner the night before but apart from Argus Filch and his cat, there had been no one. And he hadn't been able to tell her where everyone was.

Maybe, she thought, Severus Snape had taken Harry Potter on a last minute vacation and the Headmaster...someone should be there, right?

And it was with that thought in mind that she ventured, again, outside her quarters, located conveniently just a floor above her classroom (and with a secret passageway from her office to her quarters) down to the Deputy Headmistress's office. She didn't mind no company but she did mind being all alone in an ancient, castle. And if she wasn't there, she would go to the dungeons. Ask him. No, ask Hagrid first. She had seen him bustling around his hut.

But, as she crossed the corridor to Minerva's office, she saw the door standing wide open and she hurried along, quickly, panting when she arrived.

The Deputy Headmistress sat at her desk, her tight bun messier than usual, her robes, while immaculately clean, not quite fitting it seemed and she was pale, with dark rings around her eyes.

Septima coughed and the other woman looked up immediately and tried a very, very tired smile.

"Hello Septima," said Minerva. "Won't you come in?"

"Erm, yes," she nodded, puzzled, as she walked through the door. "I was, erm, actually coming to see you."

"Oh, do you have any problems? Is anything wrong? Your quarters alright?"

"Yes, everything is fine...well...I mean, I was wondering, is everyone on vacation?" she stammered, unsure how to say all of this.

"The other teachers will return this week or next," the Deputy Headmistress replied gently, rubbing her hand across her forehead.

"It's so empty," Septima whispered. "I haven't seen anyone apart from Mr Filch in the past two days and I just wondered..."

Minerva sighed and leaned back on her chair. "We have been all rather – busy. Harry, erm, Harry is a bit sick and as such, he needs a bit of care and we just ate in the dungeons with him."

"Oh," she nodded, understanding. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry, I was just...I suppose I just know Hogwarts differently."

"It's always different when there are students," the older woman smiled, "you can't find a quiet spot if you need one and if the students are gone, there are too many quiet spots. This is why most of our teachers leave for the majority of summer."

"I see," Septima nodded again. "Is, er, I mean, is there anything I can do to help? Help Harry, I mean?"

Minerva shook her head, sadly, "No, it's nothing serious and he's on his road to recovery."

Something inside herself made her think that she was lying. Something inside Septima's made her doubt her words. Something seemed strange, different, eerie, almost. Something seemed not quite right. Nevertheless, she was new, and she knew that new people were only rarely trusted and she wouldn't, definitely, force herself on anyone. And so, with a quick thank you, she left, all but running up to her rooms again, ready to bury herself in numbers and charts again.

xx

"Severus, you must eat. And take a shower. You smell," the Headmaster implored for the umpteenth time.

"I cannot leave," he said, knowing his voice sounded raw and terrible. "He could wake up and then there is nobody."

"I will watch over him," he replied.

"I will watch over him," Severus argued. "You can go away."

"Severus, this is not healthy. When Harry wakes up, he cannot see you like this. And smell you like this."

"That's an if, not a when," Severus muttered. "Go away now."

He had had many of those little arguments over the past forty-eight hours. Forty-eight hours in which nothing had changed. Yes, Harry's breathing had evened out and his hands had regained some warmth again and there was a bit of colour on his cheeks but not enough. Not in the least enough. And he had not woken up.

And Severus just sat by his bedside. Sometimes holding his hand and when he realised he was doing it, letting go immediately, sometimes, unconsciously stroking the Puffskein that purred, sometimes just sitting and staring. Sometimes, he dropped off for an hour or two and then scolded himself for doing that, sometimes reading a bit, one of Harry's books, and sometimes, just looked at the child.

He was overwhelmed with fear and agony and worry and he couldn't leave his side. He had done this. His potion had done this, the fact that he had gone to the Dark Lord with the prophecy had done this. And he was sorry. He was incredibly, eternally sorry for all the things he had done that had led to this moment and had brought this child into this position. Harry who had trusted him.

He felt very small in that moment, and very helpless and as it had happened so often in the past forty-eight hours, he felt himself so close to despair. So close to just trying anything even though he knew nothing would help. It hadn't been the sleeping potion, none of that was left in his system. It hadn't been the other potion, none of that was left in his system. It was something else, something he couldn't understand. Something he wanted to go away. He wanted things to be the way they had been before he had known about Horcruxes. Wanted to have that child back. That Harry back to run around in their quarters and ask a billion questions each day. He wanted that curious, annoying child back. Now. His own fault it wasn't there anymore.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he whispered to the sleeping, unconscious form of the child, just before he stuck a fingertip in his mouth and began biting his fingernails.

_**xx **_


	29. Chapter 29

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx **_

This was truly strange. He sat and saw himself sit at the same time. Like he was at two places at the same time. But he couldn't be, could he? It almost felt like a dream but much clearer. Even though he suspected that sometimes a dream really could seem so true. Maybe it was just a dream. But did his hair really stick up like that? His 'fesser Sev'rus always made sure it lay nicely against his scar. And did he really stare dumbly like that? And what was he staring at like that, a goofy grin on his face now? He, well, the part of him that wasn't sitting, whipped his head around and had to smile goofily himself. There came his 'fesser Sev'rus and he didn't wear his Batman-cape but jeans and a t-shirt and while there was a tattoo in his forearm, it looked faded and old and almost like a scare. And suddenly, his 'fesser Sev'rus knelt on the grassy ground (where was he anyway?) and opened his arms very, very wide and the sitting part of Harry jumped up and ran to him. Just ran to him and flew into his 'fesser's arms. Cautiously, the observing part of Harry stepped closer. He wanted to see this close up and for the first time, he could see his 'fesser when he was hugging him. He didn't smile but it seemed like his was close to it, the corners of his mouth twitching and and his lips coming very close to the other Harry's unruly mop of hair and it looked, almost, as if his 'fesser was pressing a kiss there. This was unfair. He wanted to be the Harry that was hugged and angrily, he stomped his foot on the ground.

And that stomping of the foot must have triggered something. Something odd, since he suddenly found himself, with his 'fesser and the other Harry, standing in their rooms at Hogwarts. The other Harry sat on his Sev'rus's desk and was writing something and again, his 'fesser came closer and bent over him to see what he was writing.

"That's very nice, Harry," his 'fesser said super-friendly and Harry, the observing part, felt a stab of jealousy at seeing this. His 'fesser's hands were on the other Harry's shoulders and he could even see him squeezing gently and the man's nose was in the hair and he seemed to smell. The writing Harry then turned around carefully and flung his arms around his Sev'rus.

"Thanks, Papa," the other Harry said and Harry frowned angrily. Why was that Harry allowed to call his 'fesser Papa? He wanted to call him Papa. He wanted to fling his arms around the man's neck. He wanted to be hugged like this by his 'fesser. It was his 'fesser not the stupid other Harry's 'fesser. His Papa. Not the other stupid Harry's Papa. He should be sitting there but instead he was stuck there, watching how the other Harry was cuddled.

That was mean! Mean mean mean! And Harry decided that he didn't want to watch anymore and stomped his foot on the ground again, hoping it would change the scenery again.

And it did. But this felt weird. He felt dizzy and wind rushing past him, the sound of it in his ear and his nicely combed hair whipping around his head. But where was he? He looked around and his eyes widened. He sat on a roller-coaster.

Roller-coaster. Backwards. Backwards and the roller-coaster was going. Oh he would fall down for sure! He gripped whatever he sat on tightly and looked straight ahead – which was backwards, really, and groaned silently when he saw his 'fesser, no, his Papa, and the other Harry sitting in the front of the roller-coaster, the right way round. The other Harry enjoyed himself a lot. He cheered and shouted and had his hands in the air and was just generally happy. His poor 'fesser, Papa, however, looked like he was about to sicken up. He was very pale and very scared and gripped the side of the car in which they sat tightly, Harry could even see his knuckles turning white. Why was the other Harry allowed to call him Papa and hug him and snuggle with him and go on a roller-coaster with him? So unfair. He wanted that. And that stupid other Harry with his wild hair and no scar (why did he have no scar?) was so happy and he would have been so happy if he was allowed to sit next to his Sev'rus, Papa, in a roller-coaster and he would raise his arms in the air to feel the wind rushing by as well but he would also hold his Papa's hand since he seemed so scared and looked so sick.

Mean! There was nothing to stomp his foot on, they were still dangling in the air but he decided to punch the air with his foot and found himself somewhere else. Somewhere he didn't know. It was in the fresh air, the sun was shining and there was the smell of grass again. And there was Minerva! Minerva in a summer dress and the Headmaster next to her wearing a ridiculous hat and there was his Papa again, in jeans and a t-shirt. Oh but the idiot other Harry was there as well, also in jeans and a t-shirt and he frowned. Why did he have the good time and Harry was stuck watching? Had to watch how Minerva cuddled him and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek and then another gentle kiss on the other cheek and a pat on the bottom as he ran towards his 'fesser and flung himself in his arms again. He had no idea what they were doing outside but he could see how Minerva sat down on the grass and pulled the Headmaster with her and as she sat next to him on the ground, she pulled his hand in hers and kept both of them in her lap, playing with the Headmaster's fingers.

Harry shivered suddenly. There was something. A dark cloud had moved in front of the sun and it suddenly grew very cold. He looked down on himself and frowned darkly, when he saw that he only wore his dragon jammies. Why was he wearing his jammies? And why did the dragons all shrink away and huddled together in a mass of little dragons? He looked up, frightened. But the three others didn't even see it, they didn't seem to notice that there was darkness approaching and they didn't see that there was someone else coming.

It was a man, that much could he tell when he squinted. But apart from that, he couldn't tell more. The man wore a dark cloak and a hood drawn deeply over his face. And he walked straight towards where his Papa and the other idiot Harry were cuddling and playing.

Why didn't they see him coming? Why didn't they see him pulling the wand out of his cloak? Minerva was laughing about something that the Headmaster said and his Sev'rus had his back to the man but the other idiot Harry could see him. If he only looked up.

"Look up," Harry whispered. "Look up you idiot!" he then shouted but nobody could hear him. They all just did nothing. They just played and stood and di nothing! Why didn't they see him.

The dark-cloaked man came nearer quickly and the tip of his wand was directly pointed at his Papa. Harry shook his head frantically. The dark cloud was still there, still growing darker. Why didn't they see this?

"Turn around!" he shouted. "Do something!"

He ran towards the group, and jumped up and down to make them see him, shouting all the time but they didn't see him. Why didn't they see him? They had to see him, had to hear him!

The dark-cloaked man could, however, and pushed his hood back a bit. "Step aside, silly girl," he said maliciously to Harry and Harry shrieked.

"I'm no girl!"

The dark-cloaked man only laughed in a high-pitched voice and with another malicious grin, stabbed the tip of his wand in his Papa's back. Only then did he look up and turned around and Harry could see how frightened he suddenly was. He was very, very, very scared and he rushed to his side but there was green light, a lot of green light and his Papa fell on the ground, his eyes wide open but not moving. Not moving at all.

"Stand back, girl," the evil man said again and Harry didn't know what to do. He was no girl and all the stomping of his foot didn't help. It didn't help at all. He stomped and stomped and stomped.

He gave up on the stomping, deciding, somehow, that it was more important to look after his Papa and crouched down on the floor next to him. He wasn't breathing, he wasn't looking, he wasn't moving. Nothing.

"PAPA!" he shouted as loudly as he could but there was nothing and when he let his head fall on his Papa's chest, he fell into darkness but with as much strength as he could muster, he forced his eyes open before he hit bottom.

xx

"PAPA!" he heard someone shout and looked up confused and puzzled. Someone had shouted Papa and he had apparently, fallen asleep. He felt truly confused, didn't quite remember where he was but the heart-wrenching, agonised scream had made him sit up immediately.

Harry.

Harry.

His head must have fallen on the bed next to the boy when he had fallen asleep and now he sat upright and stared at the tear-streaked face of the child. His eyes were open. And he had screamed and before his sleep-befuddled brain could register what was happening, Harry had rocketed into him, his arms wrapped tightly around his neck.

"Oh Papa, you're alright," the boy whispered breathlessly over and over again.

Severus tried to shake himself awake, tried to realise that this was a dream and that he should wake up and watch over Harry, face another day of the boy not waking.

"He didn't kill you, Papa, did he? It was a nightmare, wasn't it? You're not dead, right, Papa? And I'm no girl even though the evil man said so? You're alive and I'm a boy, right? Papa, say something," the child said, poking his warm, sticky fingers into his neck and Severus, still in a daze, still believing he was dreaming, pried the boy away from his neck.

This must be a dream. The boy wouldn't dream of calling him Papa. He was 'fesser or Sev'rus or sometimes both. Not Papa. Even though, well, it did sound nice to his ears, well, his dreaming self ears. He drew a deep breath and tried to slip from that silly dream.

"Are we both dead?" Harry suddenly asked and scrambled off the bed on his lap. "Can you speak?"

"I..." he cleared his throat and pinched his arm. "I think we're not dead," he whispered, his voice giving out. This was no dream. Harry was sitting in his lap and was currently, curiously eyeing him, then snuggled against his chest.

"I'm glad you're not dead, Papa," he said dreamily. "I think I dreamt you were dead. Oh, and that man called me a girl. I'm no girl, right?" he slowly leaned forward and with little finger pulled the waistband of his pyjamas away from his stomach and peeked down. "Nope," he said blot upright again. "I'm a boy!" he shouted happily.

Severus didn't know what to think. The boy had woken up. Apparently, if he was awake and this was no dream. The boy had woken up, had screamed Papa, used the term now freely and had just looked down his pyjama bottoms to see whether he was a boy or a girl. And he was chattering.

"You know, I had the weirdest dreams during my nap...oh, did you, you know, get the stuff away from my scar? I'm sure you did, Papa. But is it gone?" he asked and seemed to try and see his own forehead, crossing his eyes, then frowning and huffing and with his right hand, felt his forehead.

"Papa, I think it's gone. Did you get it away immediately? How did you do it? Did you do it with magic? Because the evil man in my nightmare just now did it. But before that, you and another Harry went on a roller-coaster. Can we go on a roller-coaster some day? Can we? Papa, why don't you say anything?"

Severus tried to get his bearings, he really did. In the end, he couldn't do anything apart from picking up the boy and putting him on his bed before he walked around the room twice.

"Papa, you smell funny," Harry said, obviously still teasing him with that name.

"Why are you calling me that?" he suddenly heard himself shout and he whipped around, seeing Harry shrinking back in his bed.

"Because the other Harry was calling you that and you're my 'fesser Sev'rus and not his and because you're now my Papa," he whispered.

"This is a dream. You're still in that stupid coma and I'm dreaming this," he muttered and sniffed the air around him. It was stale and he really did smell funny. He waved his wand, muttering a spell under his breath and there was fresh air in the room. Better, much better. But it still wasn't real. It couldn't be real.

"You stay there," he told the Harry in the dream and walked out of the nursery, into the living room and before he knew what he was doing, he stuck his head in the fireplace and shouted, "Deputy Headmistress's office'

"Severus?" he heard Minerva say, very concerned as she knelt in front of her fireplace.

"Tell me, Minerva, are you awake? Am I awake?"

He could see her frowning, beetling her eyebrows and he felt her hand pinch his cheek. "You're awake, I'm awake. How's Harry? Any news?"

"I think," he said very slowly, "he woke up."

"He woke up? And why are you here? Why aren't you with him? I'm coming through, step aside, or I'll land on your face," sad the Deputy Headmistress rushedly.

"I thought it was a dream," he muttered, withdrawing from the fireplace and falling on his heels a few steps away. "He called me Papa."

"He called you what?" the woman asked as she brushed a few flakes of soot from her robes but didn't stop to await his answer and rushed into the nursery. He shook his head tiredly. This was utter madness.

Madness.

He heard Minerva breathe "Harry," then heard the boy shriek "Minerva" and slowly, very, very slowly, he pushed his body into a standing position, walking, exhaustedly, back into the nursery, into the boy's room.

Minerva sat on Harry's bed, holding him and crying openly and smiling soppily when she saw him enter again. "Severus, you should really take a shower and get some food. I imagine Harry is starving as well," she said, her voice cracking.

"I am starving," replied Harry, full of conviction.

He shook his head still, his mind reeling.

xx

Harry blinked at Minerva, then decided to just plunge in. "Minerva, why is he so strange? I'm not a girl."

She settled him on her lap and looked sternly into his eyes. "Harry, do you know how long you were sleeping?"

He shook his head. "I don't know but not that long. And Papa said I could stay up longer today because I'd take a nice long nap when you made sure that I wouldn't turn into a girl."

She smiled gently. "Harry, you slept for over two days."

"Two days?" his eyes widened. "No wonder Papa smelled so funny. But why?"

"Why do you call him Papa? I've never heard you referring to him like this before?" she asked, still smiling and stroking his hair the way he liked it.

"Because I had a dream and there was another Harry and he could do all the things with him that I really wanted and he was calling him Papa and I thought if I called him that too, he would do all those things with me," he explained gravely. "But why was I sleeping for two days?"

"I don't know, sweetheart. But you did and your Papa was very worried."

Harry grinned. If Minerva said 'your Papa' it would be alright for him to continue calling him that. "And the scar is gone?"

She nodded, grinning, and suddenly began to cry very hard. Harry wasn't sure what to do so he wrapped his arms around her and asked.

"Because I'm so happy you woke up. We were so worried. I don't think Severus slept this entire time and he certainly didn't eat anything."

"He was really that worried about me?" Harry asked incredulously.

"We all were, love. We all were," she began to sob again and Harry held her tightly.

"But I really won't turn into a girl now?" he asked, muffled against her shoulder.

"No, you won't," she laughed under tears.

"And he will be okay?"

"I'm sure he'll be."

"And he wont mind me calling him Papa?" he asked, unsure.

Minerva chuckled and kissed his cheeks just like she had done with the other idiot Harry in the dreams. "No, he will love it."

Harry sighed happily and settled against her. "But will you tell me why I slept two days when you find out?"

I promise I will," she told him as she rocked him gently.

xx

Harry ate like a bottomless pit and Minerva sat next to him, making sure he – Severus – was eating. Bloody woman. Both of them were acting like nothing had happened. Well, technically, the boy didn't know what had happened and to be fair, maybe Minerva just pretended everything to be normal for the boy's sake. He still couldn't quite wrap his mind around this. Every single sentence the boy said was either beginning, or ending with Papa. He definitely needed sleep. A lot of undisturbed sleep. But it was the middle of the day, he couldn't sleep. It wasn't done. He had missed making lesson plans. He had missed more than two days of preparation.

And Minerva seemed to sense it. She smiled at him gently and put a hand on his arm across the table before he pked Harry in the side.

"Harry, would you like to go flying with me this afternoon?"

"I don't think he's ready to go..." he wanted to interrupt.

"Oh tosh," she huffed. "Harry, would you like to go flying?"

The boy nodded excitedly and grinned at Minerva, then at him. "May I, Papa?"

He rolled his eyes, even though they were hurting. "If you must," he said and his head hurt when the boy shouted and jumped and was absolutely happy, it seemed.

"And you sleep," Minerva said sternly, looking deeply at him and, suddenly, bent over the table and pressed a kiss on his cheek, smiling.

_**xx **_


	30. Chapter 30

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

Minerva flew differently from Papa. Minerva had explained to him, that she would Stick him to the broom with a hex and then had sat him in front of her and had said that he better pay attention and be alert and never let go off the handle. And then she had kicked off the ground and wheee – that was much faster than with Papa and Minerva flew loops and zig-zag and everything. She laughed behind him and seemed to sense when he wanted to let go off the handle to raise his arms in the air as the other Harry had done on the roller-coaster in the dream and covered his hands with hers and laughing into his hair as she bent forwards. He looked down at the forest rushing past them and then over the lake and over hills and he had never flown so quickly (and that didn't say a lot since it was only the second time he was flying) and had felt so marvellous in his entire life. But as they flew over a few scattered trees, he felt a bit dizzy and instead looked at Minerva's hands covering his.

There were a few darker spots on them, a single, simple, golden ring on her finger, her nails cut shortly but prettily. They were slim hands, but Harry knew they were strong and they were perfect for stroking his hair and in this case, for keeping him safe on the broom.

All of them kept them safe, he thought, sighing happily as he looked down again, zooming over the shore of the lake. His Papa did and Minerva did and Peeves did. They all liked him, they all loved him and they had all made sure that he would never turn into a girl. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had never cared whether he was hurt or aching or wasn't well. Instead, he had only received a slap when he was too slow. Or was sent to his cupboard without tea or any other kind of food. Or kicked into his cupboard. Uncle Vernon liked doing that when he was in a mood as Aunt Petunia called it. And here, in this new life he had gotten, in this new life he loved so much. Everyone took care of him and Papa hadn't slept because he had slept.

Harry sighed once more, in relief, trying to ignore that he had probably just swallowed a innocently flying bug and whooped again when Minerva zig-zagged again.

He had never thought his Papa was a cautious person compared to Minerva, but apparently that was exactly the case.

"Hold tight," she cried and a moment later, the world was upside down and then the right way again, causing him to whoop loudly. It was wonderful! Truly, truly wonderful and so much better than what the idiot other Harry had done on the roller-coaster. Of course it would have been even cooler with his Papa, but oh well, maybe soon. He had looked a little strange and tired. Maybe he needed a Rhubarb as well to cuddle during the night. He slept much better with Rhubarb...oh.

Oh!

"Rhubarb!" he screamed. He hadn't seen his Puffskein since he had woken up.

"What?" Minerva cried back, the wind rushing through them and she somewhat slowed the broom.

He tried to turn around but his bottom was stuck to the broomstick and his hands were held on the handle by Minerva's.

"Rhubarb, Minerva!" he shouted again, over his shoulder.

"Oh the Puffskein," she cried back, slowly more as they circled over the Quidditch pitch.

"I haven't seen him since I feel asleep. Do you know now why I slept so long?"

She laughed. "Do you want to see him? And no, I still don't know why you slept so long. But I promise I'll tell you as soon as I know," she shouted back at him, her chin, he felt, on his head and he leaned back happily back. So safe. So wonderful. Even if he had slept for more than two days. All the more reason to being allowed to stay up late for the next few days.

"We'll go and see Rhubarb right now, if you like," she added.

"No, fly faster again!" he shouted back and she still laughed, accelerating and gaining height again. "But he's okay, right?"

"He is very well," she replied, shouting and he sighed. Couldn't help it.

xx

She knew, deep in her heart, that she should be more careful. The boy had just woken from a deep sleep, a coma, and here she was, taking everything out of her Meteor X that she could. She was just – relieved and happy – to have her boy back. Alive, well, cheering, whooping, letting out countless happy-sighs. Snuggling to her on the broomstick and she couldn't help letting her joy out in this way. The broom had always been her outlet, since her days as Chaser back when she had gone to school. She was a skilled flyer and she loved doing it, always kept it up, tried to fly at least three times a week – and usually, as to not be spotted by her students, during the night. What kind of image would it give those poor souls if they saw her stern Transfiguration mistress flying loopings and zig-zagging through the sky? She had a reputation to uphold and while she wasn't at all sure what would happen to her reputation and the boy when school was back in session, she know thoroughly enjoyed herself. And she would definitely not push the boy away during meals if he wanted to sit next to her – or on her lap. Reputation be damned. She kissed the top of Harry's head and laughed the way she hadn't laughed in years – amazingly relieved and happy and joyous and whatnot that her Harry was alright.

xx

Septima tried hard to get the muscles in her neck to relax again, tried to get them to stop the tight, painful grip on her but nothing worked. She had sat hunched over number charts she would give her third years as a first beginning, trying to let them work out the Arithmantic valued of their names. Just a beginning of what they could do with Arithmancy. Then they would move slowly towards calculating other numerical values, until, during their fifth, sixth and seventh years, the would get to the real Arithmancy. Calculating the amount of swishes to a wand movement for a spell, the number of ingredients to add to a potion, the analysis of past events and their Arithmantic significance and maybe, in their seventh year, that part of Arithmancy that dealt with a logical prediction of things and events. Not what she preferred but she had it all worked out. It was basically all done and yet, she was unsure. Afraid. Scared. Hell, she was only 24. Had never thought she would teach. At least not under Dumbledore. Man had basically send her parents to their deaths.

Didn't matter. She would just teach. Maybe talk to Binns – and if she could pluck up the courage, to Severus Snape – about integrating Arithmancy to History of Magic and Potions. Though she doubted either one would agree to it. Only few students took her subject. And that would probably be her saving grace. She could be strict. She could expect a lot. She would be severe.

But right now, she had enough of numbers and those charts that appeared in front of her eyes whenever she closed them. She needed fresh air and a brisk walk. And tonight, she needed a crisp sandwich. Or maybe two. This was – definitely not as she had hoped it would be. But life only very rarely was. At least hers.

Her parents, killed by Death Eaters while on a mission for Dumbledore just after You-Know-Who had been vanquished, her grandparents fleeing back to Switzerland after that, and she, refusing to go with them. Had thought she could live alone in England, finish school, finish Uni and had now ended up here, the end of Scotland, teaching. Just because Dumbledore thought he owed her. He didn't. And she certainly didn't owe him anything for this chance. Not sure she would stay after all. She had antagonised most of the staff already – Severus Snape, obviously due to her stupid questioning of Harry Potter, Minerva McGonagall due to – she didn't know what but she had been incredibly short with her, and she did not trust Dumbledore at all. Probably shouldn't even stay after that term. Had wanted to change her life and everything had turned upside down alredy. Had messed everything up already. Just couldn't do it right.

She pushed the heavy doors open and stepped into the beaming sunshine and immediately stumbled over something – or rather someone.

xx

"Oh dear, I'm sorry," that Tima-woman whispered, picking him up where he had been knocked on the ground. He hadn't looked where he had gone, had talked to Minerva and suddenly, he had found himself on his bum. And that Tima-woman half on top of him, somehow on her knees.

"It's okay," he smiled and from so close up, she didn't look scary at all. On the contrary. She looked rather sad. And she lifted him up by his arms, set him on his feet and so close, she even smelled good and she felt softer than Minerva and his Papa. Different. But very, very sad now that he looked into her eyes. Harry hoped she wasn't sad because he had been scared by her, or wasn't sad because she had run him over. It had been his own fault just as much, he hadn't looked either and he was rather used to the fact that people overlooked him because he was so small. "It's really okay," he smiled brightly at her but her eyes grew even sadder and just suddenly, just like that, she darted past him and ran away, leaving a very puzzled Harry who turned, once more, to Minerva.

"Why did she run away?" he asked quietly and saw that Minerva stared after her, just as he did, watched her running with her robes flying behind her.

"I don't know, sweetheart," she shook her head.

"Can we go cheer her up?" he asked innocently.

She shook her head again but smiled. "No, but we can try and cheer her up during dinner. Would you like that?"

He nodded, happily, and as she took her hand, he skipped along side her, back down to the dungeons, back to Rhubarb and his 'fesser and back home. His Minerva had said that he needed a lot of rest and had suggested, which he thought was a good idea, by the way, that he and Rhubarb could nap a bit with Papa. He didn't know why, and he was certainly not admitting it, but he felt tired. Despite his very long sleep which he still didn't understand. He stifled a yawn but Minerva's sharp eye didn't miss it and she smirked as she gave him a little pat on the bottom just as they arrived back at home and then she bent down and kissed his cheeks. Harry failed to notice that she at the same time transfigured his clothing in comfortable sweatpants and a sweatshirt because he scanned the floor to find Rhubarb and called for him softly.

And yes, a moment later, his pet scurried over the floor to him and he picked him up happily, cuddling him close to his chest.

Minerva laughed softly as she opened the door to his Papa's bedroom and she, as well as him, heard the snores that came out from it.

"Go in there and take a nap with him," she whispered softly, kissing his cheek again and stroked his hair as he ran, as quietly as he could, into the bedroom and putting Rhubarb on the floor (he had never been in there and would be happy to explore), he climbed up on the bed when he heard the front door to their rooms close.

His 'fesser Sev'rus Papa stopped snoring for a moment and turned around, blinking up at him blearily.

"Hello Papa," whispered Harry and pushed his body close to him, his legs under the duvet and snuggling to him.

"Harry," he whispered back and Harry wasn't even sure whether he was awake or not when he took him into his arms. His Papa had never so willingly given him a hug and had never, ever before, snuggled him like this. Harry sighed once more just as he closed his eyes, his body warmed by his Papa's and his nostrils filled by his Papa's scent.

xx

"And?" Minerva asked after she had returned home from bringing Harry in for a nap with his newly christened Papa, and as she saw her husband sitting over books, his shoulders hunched. She couldn't help stepping closer and putting her hands on it, trying to soothe him.

"It seems to be as I thought," he began hesitantly but she had the feeling that he understood that she wanted to be informed. At least she hoped so, "Harry's body was used to the part of the soul, so to speak. And his own soul had already, partly, connected to the split soul. Nothing to be worried about but nevertheless, there was a growing connection and his own soul had not even tried to battle this connection yet. As such, his body needed, wanted rest. This coma, it was in fact just exhausted sleep. He needed to regain his strength and that was only possible in complete relaxation. He is, now, completely healthy, but will still need a lot of rest."

"He's taking a nap with Severus," she explained softly, putting her chin on his shoulder. "And you're sure we destroyed the Horcrux?"

He nodded, lifting his arms and wrapping it around her neck slowly. "It checked time and time again. The Horcrux is destroyed. It cannot, by itself, find another host and as soon as you had cut it off Harry's head, it was in fact, quite destroyed."

"But..."

"No, let me explain. While a complete, healthy, sound soul will never die – for the lack of a better word – a soul-fragment will be vanished, die, as soon as it's host, as long as it's a live one, is killed or dies. The connection between the entire soul and the soul-fragment is then destroyed, naturally," he said tiredly. "However..."

"How many more?" she asked.

"I don't know. I think I must consult Septima Vector again and maybe confide in her," he explained further. "She should be able to make the correct calculations."

Minerva nodded, then fleeing from his embrace, she straightened. "I will go get the papers in order for when the students arrive."

"Yes," he nodded, "thank you."

"It's my job," she said, a hint of steel in her voice.

"You do so much more than your job. I wouldn't know what I'd do without you."

She seized him with her eyes and while, yes, she loved him, and yes, she was grateful that he had told her something, a bit of probably the bigger picture he already had in his mind, she had not forgotten the past few days and all the secrets. "You would've found someone else," she said and left their quarters, unable to look back, not seeing that he looked after her, shaking his head sadly.

xx

There was something odd. Distinctly odd. And it didn't escape Severus's notice that he was in his bed. But wasn't alone in his bed. There was something poking him. In the stomach. In the chest. He opened his eyes – and stared straight into Lily's. No. Harry's. Harry. Yes.

He closed his eyes again and rapidly, tried to sort his thoughts.

The boy had been a Horcrux. And that Horcrux had been cut off him, basically, and Harry had not woken up after that. Until that morning. Afternoon. Harry had woken up this afternoon and as much as the past few days had been a blur – he remembered sitting at the boy's bedside all the time. The entire time apart from very, very quick trips to the loo. And he must have fallen asleep there because when he had woken up, the boy had greeted him with Papa. The boy had called him Papa.

Then he remembered faintly, very faintly, taking a shower and eating with Harry and Minerva. Afterwards, it had been a blur again.

Now it was clear. He was in his bed, and Harry was in his bed, with him. Wait, no, Minerva had taken the boy somewhere. Flying. Yes. Flying.

"Hello Papa," he heard the boy, suddenly, "did you sleep well? I did. When you stopped snoring. You snore really really loud!"

Papa. That again. He wasn't a Papa. He was the evil git of the dungeons and as much as he had been worried about the boy, it had been because of, yes, because of the Vow he had taken all those years back to protect the boy. And because he had wanted to keep Lily's legacy alive. Not because of the boy. No. It had absolutely nothing to do with the boy himself. It had been self-preservation, really. No telling in what would have happened if the boy had not survived. Terror would have broken out in the country over the news. And every single one of the Dark Lord's followers would have cheered and would have done their best to find him again. He had done it for himself. And not for the boy.

And that boy had nothing to do in his bed. And that boy had better not call him Papa.

Severus sat up quickly and glared at him as best as he could. "Do not call me that," he growled in his most menacing tone, which, considering he still sounded half asleep wasn't very menacing. "Do you hear? Do not call me that. And get out of my bed!"

The boy's eyes widened in fear and he scrambled from the bed and ran out of the room.

_**xx **_


	31. Chapter 31

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

Harry ran blindly. At first he had thought that he should just go into his perfect new room but then he decided against it. His Papa – 'fess – no, Professer didn't want him there anymore. He had said get out. He had said get out of my bed, yes, but Harry wasn't stupid. He knew he hadn't only meant the bed. The way he had glared at him – it had been the same way Uncle Vernon had always glared at him. He didn't know what he had done wrong. He didn't know at all.

Fortunately, there were no bouncy walls around the corridor now and he could run, as fast as his little legs would carry him through the dungeons and then up, up, up, always following the staircases, not caring where he was going.

His, no, the Professer didn't want him there anymore. He had made a mistake though he didn't know which or what, and he had looked at him with that angry gleam in the eyes.

Harry felt utterly alone and only moments before, everything had been okay, really. Everything had been normal. No, better than normal. He had been so happy after the flying and then he had even been snuggled by the Professer. And now everything was in tatters. He had no idea what had happened in that short time and it confused him more than anything and he couldn't stop the tears from falling, even as he stumbled up another staircase. He was utterly blinded by now, fat tears streaking the lenses of his glasses as well and he only heard his own sniffing and the occasional sob, and his own footsteps. Nothing else. He didn't know where he was and he didn't care. It didn't matter. It really didn't since the one person he wanted to be found by and hugged by right now would never ever look for him. He wanted his Papa back.

The one who had held him and the one who had cuddled him before he had gone to sleep. The one who explained things and the one who had to let him sleep. Maybe, he would even be happy with having his 'fesser Sev'rus back. But he didn't want him. And so, Harry sniffed, he didn't want him either anymore. He could go back to Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. Or maybe, it had all turned out to be a dream anyway. That would be best, actually, he decided. If that all was a dream than he would have never known how it felt like to feel protected and loved. And that was better.

Harry spotted a few suits of armour and on a whim, decided to hide behind it. Nobody would come looking for him. Even Minerva thought that the Professer loved him and that he wouldn't mind calling him Papa. But he did. And he didn't want him anymore. Carefully, he scrambled behind a particularly vicious looking suit of armour and cowered on the floor, his arms flung around his legs. He had drawn them up towards his chest and he tried, hard, to ignore the cold seeping through the thin sweatpants and into his bottom as he cried as softly as he could.

xx

Septima stopped in front of the suits or armour that lined the corridor just before her quarters. She had enjoyed her walk, had regained some equilibrium, had gathered her wits again. The boy had completely undone her, in the end. So innocent and she managed to knock him to the ground and even asked if she was okay.

Still, as she stood in front of an suit of armour, her wand drawn, she heard the sniffling noise. As if someone was crying. She believed most things possible, she was in an ancient, magical castle after all, but a sniffling, sniffing, sobbing suit of armour? That seemed a bit far-fetched after all.

"Hello?" she called gently and the suit of armour didn't move. Of course it wouldn't. Why should it? A suit of armour, even if it had belonged to Numbert, the Nutty, could not make such noises. But she heard more of the noises and a bit of scraping across the flagstones. "Hello?" she called again and as she looked towards the floor, she was startled to see two huge, green eyes staring up at her. Wet, cried out green eyes and her eyes jumped towards the poor little fellow hiding behind the suit of armour. Harry.

She knelt down on the ground and tried to smile. "Hello Harry," she whispered softly and he still stared at her but was slowly and carefully coming towards her on his knees. "Are you playing hide and seek?" she asked, stupidly, she knew. Why would he cry then? And of course he shook his head, new tears spilling over. "Are you hiding from someone?" Again, he shook his head and sobbed.

"Did you get lost?"

He shook his head again and hugged himself, sitting on the floor in front of the suit of armour. He shivered or trembled and she just wanted to pick him up and hug him and give him some hot chocolate but he was frightened. That much she could see.

"Would you tell me why you hid behind the suit of armour of Numbert, the Nutty?"

Harry frowned, then shook his head.

"Hm. Would you like some hot chocolate?" she asked, smiling at him, thinking that maybe she could bribe the boy into telling her what had transpired. Why he was crying. What he had been sick with. What he had done with Minerva McGonagall outside.

He cocked his head to the side, looking utterly adorable even though tears streaked his cheeks and he probably wasn't able to see through his glasses since the lenses were so dirty and smudged and full of the remains of tears as well. He pulled the side of his lower lip between his teeth and chewed on it.

"And a biscuit? Or maybe two?" she smiled winningly and suddenly, he nodded and pushed himself up on his feet.

Septima stood up as well and before she knew what was happening, the boy had pushed one of his cold and clammy hands into her own and looked, very scared, up at her.

"You don't have to be afraid," she said insecurely. What did she know about children? Next to nothing. Well, or better, nothing at all. But he obviously knew what he was doing when he nodded and gripped her hand tighter.

"Well then," she said, somewhat puzzled that he still hadn't said a single word. "My rooms are over there," she pointed at a portrait. "And we will be able to get some hot chocolate there and some biscuits."

He nodded again – and silently, walked beside her. She had only seen the boys a few times but he had never remained so silent. She wondered whether he had run away or had indeed gotten lost. She would alert Minerva. He had seemed happy with Minerva. And she certainly couldn't bring herself to stick her head in her fireplace and call for Severus Snape, even if he was the boy's guardian. She just couldn't do that. Minerva, she could.

She moved behind Harry and only now noticed how cold the boy really was. "You must be freezing," she said worriedly and brought her hand to his cheek. He was cold. Shivering from the cold then maybe. "Harry, I..."

The boy turned around and even though she was undoing the wards on the portrait and spoke her password, she didn't fail to see how he looked at her. It was on impulse that she bent down as soon as the portrait revealed an open door and picked him up. Lifted the boy just in her arms and felt him flinging his arms around her neck, trapping her hair painfully at the back and crying, once again, in her neck, his tears wetting her neck and his glasses poking her painfully. She couldn't help, however, holding his sobbing body close to hers and sitting down on her sofa, the boy on her lap.

"Shhh, Harry. It's okay," she whispered in his ear, even though she had no idea if it was, even though she had no idea whether she was doing this right. But somehow, her hands stroked his back and his hair and he sobbed, hiccuped, cried. She rocked him back and forth gently trying to ignore the painfully poking glasses, her wet collar and the sticky hands trapping her hair.

xx

Severus rubbed his hand over his face, and got up heavily from his bed. That little monster. Or maybe not. What had the little monster actually done? Well, that calling him Papa would have to stop. But...oh he had been too harsh, maybe. The boy was – came from – a disturbed home and he had just made it worse. He had been so harsh on him. Too harsh. He could have just told him, seriously, that he should just not call him Papa (what a word) and talk to him in quieter tones after he had a cup of tea or a cup of coffee. And seriously – he had forgotten, for a moment only, that the boy way vulnerable. That the boy was not like other boys. That he was damaged. He pressed his fingers to his forehead. He knew he was the wrong sort of person to take care of the boy.

And now the boy had already begun liking him. And he had messed it up. He had, very effectively, drawn the boy away, the fear and desperation in his face so clearly visible that it had even felt like someone had stabbed him from behind the moment he had uttered those words.

But maybe it was better this way. Maybe this way, the boy didn't get too attached to him. And he knew that sooner or later, the by would grow away from him in any way – or would despise him at least. The moment the boy learned who he was, what he had done, that this entire dilemma had been Severus's fault, the boy would run anyway.

Minerva had a wonderful connection to him. And Albus had said that she had wanted children. She would be a better mother substitute than he being a father substitute. It had been a ridiculous idea right from the beginning and now everyone would be able to see it.

He walked, still tired, to the boy's room. He would explain. He would tell him that he should sleep over at Minerva's for the time being – and his heart seemed to stop when he saw the room empty.

xx

Harry was nibbling on a biscuit when she had explained to him that she had to tell someone something. He had understood and sat now, like a picture of misery, on her couch. He had not yet said much, had only let himself be seated on the sofa and had, hesitantly, taken a biscuit.

"Minerva?" she whispered into her fireplace and she could see a head suddenly.

"Septima?"

"Harry is here in case you were looking for him," she whispered.

"Harry?"

"I found him but haven't told him that I'd be telling you so..."

"Harry is with you," the Deputy Headmistress said breathlessly. "Yes. Take good care of him, I'll come back later."

"Thanks," she nodded and pulled her head from the fireplace again and turned around on her knees to smile at Harry again. "So...that's that done."

The boy hiccuped merely and said nothing. Again. So far, he hadn't said anything.

"Did you lose your speech?" she asked, keeping her smile on her face. She knew that by now it was a little forced. She had wanted nothing more but to crawl into bed after her walk, with a sandwich and the wireless on and a book. And now she had the boy with her.

"You were sad," the boy said rawly.

She stared at him. How – perceptive. Extraordinary. "Yes, I was earlier."

"Why?" he asked.

"If I tell you why I was sad, will you tell me why you hid behind the suit of armour?"

He seemed to think for a moment, then slowly, nodded, another tear trickling down his face. She moved next to him quickly again and before she even had a chance to put an arm around his shoulders, he had sort of snuggled into her already, his head on her chest and his little arm across her stomach. The part she liked least about herself. That and her thighs. And her bum. And – not the time to think about it.

"Would you like to start or shall I?" she asked, running her fingers through his hair.

"Papa," he sobbed, "doesn't want me anymore."

Septima swallowed hard. "What do you mean, your Papa doesn't want you anymore?"

Harry pushed his head closer to her, his arms were tightening around her and he had drawn his little legs up on the sofa. He was...he looked so small and pitiful. "Professor Snape doesn't want me to call him Papa and he said get out and he looked like Uncle Vernon when he said that," he blurted out and began crying in earnest again. Fat tears running down his cheeks and Septima had no idea what to do, what to say.

xx

Minerva sat, writing up schedules for the lower year students when the floo call came. She had barely time to wonder what it was about, why Harry had run away, and in fact, she was still standing in front of her fireplace when the door to her office burst open and Severus stormed in.

Oh he did not look well.

"Yes?" Minerva asked.

"Harry...Harry is gone," he panted, his face ashen. Oh. So. Harry had probably run away. But why? He had been so happy snuggling into bed with Severus.

"What happened?" she asked, gesturing towards a chair and when he refused to sit, she stood before him, glaring at him. "What happened?" she shouted.

Severus shook his head. "I...he was in my bed."

"I put him there, yes," she nodded sternly. "And he was rather happy about it. And then?"

"Then I woke up," he continued and Minerva had to roll her eyes.

"You don't say," she replied sarcastically, "I thought you were sleep walking."

"Is he here?" he shouted at her, angrily.

"No, he's not here. What happened?"

"Where is he?"

"What did you do?" she cried, close to his ear and that made his rage, or anger, or whatever it was, stop for a moment.

"I told him to get out and not to call me Papa," he said, his voice small.

Minerva closed her eyes and sighed. "And you wonder why he isn't there anymore? Why he ran away?" she felt her anger rising but knowing Harry was safe, well, it kept her level. A bit. But he was angry at this man standing in front of her and she couldn't contain her anger at him. "Do you have any kind of idea what this boy is going through? Of what he had gone through? You better than anyone should know and you better than anyone should realise that saying something like that, hurting that child like that will damage him. He finally felt accepted her, he felt accepted by you, he asked me whether you'd mind him calling you Papa and I said you'd love it. I am very disappointed in you, Severus Snape. You could have given this child a loving, wonderful home and you tell him to get out? After you spent two days at his bedside? What are you? An idiot?" she shouted, she knew she was unfair but she didn't care.

"Where is he?" Severus asked, angry as well, ignoring her speech.

She huffed, loudly, and it was her temper, really, that made her do it. "Do you even care? After telling him to get out?" she yelled and a moment later, her hand connected with his cheek, the slapping noise echoing on the walls of her office.

_**xx **_


	32. Chapter 32

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

"Where. Is. Harry?" he asked, his wand pointed at the older witch.

She growled, staring at him, her wand in her hand but pointed at the ground still. She opened her mouth to say something but he, suspecting his cheek was bright red, beat her to it.

"No, Minerva. You're quiet for a moment now and let me speak," he began, rage huge within him, "I agreed to take care of him. I wanted to be his guardian and I am fit to be his guardian. I am giving the boy a solid, good home. Not just an old woman who pretends Harry is her grandson. ," he continued (even though he wasn't so sure whether he was really fit to be Harry's guardian himself). "Now, if you know where he is, tell me, otherwise I will go look for him. And I will find him. And take him home with me."

"With Septima Vector," she whispered meekly and stuffed her wand back into her sleeve. "I did not mean to hit you."

"Noted," he said, "Where is she?"

"Seventh floor," Minerva replied, rubbing her hands over her face.

Severus turned, unsure whether he had said the right things, but nevertheless left, not without looking over his shoulder quickly, "He is my ward and my responsibility."

He saw her nod, then ran, almost, up to the Seventh Floor. She would live there. Naturally. Highly magical number, and her name, well, yes. He had done the boy wrong. He had been grumpy and mean and had not meant it. Feelings came rushing back when the boy had woken up – calling him Papa. Feelings that he could not ignore. The warmth blossoming in his chest and the tingling feeling in his stomach, the almost overwhelming – joy – at seeing the boy well and at hearing him call him by that ridiculous title. Papa. What an idiotic...wonderful...ridiculous...heart-warming...stupid...word.

Oh, who was he kidding? He had liked it. He had liked it but at the same time, he felt not entitled to it. James Potter, he was sure, was spinning in his grave at the topmost speed. The entire world was off balance upon hearing Harry come up with it. And why? On a whim, probably. And...

And because this clearly marked his territory. Harry had marked Severus as his own – in a clearer way then with the possessive pronoun before the 'fesser and the Sev'rus. Harry had only wanted, did only want to belong. To him. Papa and Harry. Harry and Papa.

And he had messed it up. Spectacularly. What an idiot he was, Minerva was right when she said that. Minerva had probably been right in slapping some sense into him. Not that it gave her the right to do it, she was not his mother, nor Harry's grandmother, nor had she any claim on both of them. She was just Minerva and the boy did like her. But the boy had chosen him. Time and time again. Had climbed into his bed, had snuggled to him, though Merlin only knew why he would want to have that closeness. Harry wanted a home. With him.

And he had send him away. Ridiculously. Had made an utter fool of himself and had, probably, lost Harry now. He did not – did not – want to lose him. Harry had given him joy, despite of what he had continuously told himself. The boy had been happy. And he, Severus, with the utmost care and precision, had destroyed that happiness. He'd be lucky if he wanted to return. He could count himself very lucky indeed if Harry accepted some form of apology.

Apology?

Oh yes. He would have to apologise to the boy. Just needed an excuse. Couldn't tell the boy possibly that he had been scared for a moment. Very afraid of being responsible for the boy. Very confused of why the boy would choose him. Very puzzled to find him clinging to him in his bed. Well...

That he could actually do. He had been puzzled and Harry knew that he needed some strong caffeine intake before he was himself in the mornings. That he could not stand Harry giggling and tasking a tonne of questions before breakfast. The boy knew that. That was...

He was about to knock on the door to Vector's quarters when he heard her voice from inside.

"And you see," he heard her, muffled, "sometimes even grown ups are sad when they're alone."

"But you're not alone," he heard Harry, and his heart beat a little faster when he realised that he seemed to be speaking in a normal voice, not extraordinarily happy or bouncy and not extraordinarily sad, "I'm here now."

"Yes," he heard her, "but once you grow up, you will realise that there is a difference between children and adults and their company."

"Why?"

"I will explain that to you, I promise, Harry, but wait another ten years," she chuckled and it was a warm sound to Severus's ears. He truly did not know that woman. How had she come to have Harry with her? And what was she talking about?

He knocked when there was only silence inside and the door sprang open a moment later. He immediately saw her, sitting on her sofa and Harry was on her lap, one of his legs at either side of her thighs, his head comfortably resting on her chest and his arms around her, just as her arms were around him, stroking his back and his hair.

"Harry, look who's there," she bent forwards after greeting him with a nod and a very thorough glance. It was as if she had tried to examine him – in some way.

"Hello Harry," he said and his voice sounded raw even to his ears.

"Go away," Harry said after the green eyes had met his and after he had blinked twice, rapidly and as he had pushed his head against Vector's chest again.

Severus stepped forward, not exactly having thought through what he was about to do and got down on one knee in front of the sofa, next to the woman's legs.

"Harry, I'm sorry," he tried to state clearly but his voice had taken a life of its own and came out weirdly raw and choked again. "You know what I'm like when I've woken up."

"Grumpy," the boy said, muffled against the woman's chest.

"Yes," he nodded. "And I think we ought to make another rule."

Harry turned around, blinking at him, "What other rule?"

"Don't take anything seriously what I say before I had two cups of tea or coffee," he said honestly.

The boy looked at him. And looked. And looked. And looked some more. Without any kind of reaction. And that for several, long, long moments. Severus was very close to getting up and leaving again, very close to just forgetting about the boy and going back to his former life. Lonely bat of the dungeons. That would be so much simpler. And easier. And less – humiliating.

"Really?" Harry asked, staring puzzled.

"Really," he nodded.

"And you didn't mean it?"

He shook his head, knowing that he was lying to the boy but knowing, at the same time, that this was one thing he could understand. It was plain and clear. "I didn't mean it," he said, his voice now steadier.

"He said you don't want him anymore," the woman said very quietly.

"I didn't mean that either," he said – to the boy, not to the woman.

"You still want me?"

He nodded, feeling weird and strange and wanting to run away. He was there and wasn't sure himself why he was saying those things and why he should even care and why...

Harry shook his head, then nodded, then shook it again. "But..." he looked at the woman, probably for help.

"He thinks you don't want to be his Papa," she helped, softly.

He swallowed around the lump in his throat. A lump that had, not noticed by him, lodged itself there some time between listening at the door and that moment. It was hot and heavy and seemed to be taking all the air he needed. He choked and coughed and made a decision. He would deal with that. He would deal with the uncomfortable...ridiculous...wonderful title. Let the boy think he was his.

For the time being.

For – as soon as Harry found out about Severus's past, as soon as Harry had found other friends, had met other adults, other people, he would not want Severus as his Papa anyway anymore. He could at least take it for the time being. In a few years, maybe even a few months after being tutored by Mrs Longbottom, he would change his mind on his own. Severus then could deal with the hurt and the pain it would maybe bring. Until then, he would have to live with the warmth in his chest and the tingling in his stomach and the stupid title.

"I did not mean that either," he whispered breathlessly. Damn lump was taking all his air.

The boy, then, suddenly, whipped around and stared at him. Stared at him with those incredibly green eyes that had been the reason of his unhinging just a little before. Yes, that had been it. The reminder that this was Lily's child. That he had already, when the child had been a little over a year old, had taken responsibility for him. Had taken an oath, a vow to protect him. Only, he had not wanted anyone to know. As soon as it became public knowledge that he was now Harry's guardian – everyone would know. Everyone would know his secret.

"Really?" Harry asked breathlessly.

"Really," he nodded, his voice, damned thing, in a whisper.

"Really?" he asked again.

"Really," he nodded and watched how Vector sat him on his feet on the ground, just next to him. And watched, in slow motion, how the boy smiled, his eyes full of unshed tears, and how Harry threw himself at him, felt how the little arms wrapped themselves around his neck, how the little legs wrapped themselves around his stomach and felt how he fought to keep his balance to not topple over. Felt, how his own arms went around his ward, felt how he clung to him and watched how Vector smiled. Smiled sadly.

"I'm sorry," he whispered barely audibly into the child's ear. He was. He truly was.

"I'm sorry, too," Harry whispered back in his ear. "I didn't remember that you were grumpy when getting up and I was asking too many questions again and I'm sorry that I just ran away and hid behind the suit of armour of Numbert the Nutty and I'm sorry that you...

"Shhh, you ridiculous child," he whispered back.

"And I can really call you Papa again?" he asked.

He nodded. "Yes. If you want to," he replied.

"I want to!" Harry cried out. "I want to!"

Severus nodded at the woman who still seemed to have that frozen, sad smile on her face and slowly, with his ward in his arms, got up. He did not thank her, he just left with Harry clinging to him, hoping he had not made the biggest mistake of his lifetime in letting the boy in.

xx

His Papa had come to apologise. He had apologised and he still wanted him. Harry could tell. Not so much by the words but rather by his Papa's actions. The way he held him tight and carried him down to the dungeons and the way he stuck his nose into Harry's hair from time to time. His Papa had come and had apologised and really, really wanted him. He felt it. Harry could just feel it. He clung tighter to his Papa and kissed his cheek and felt as if the last few minutes, maybe an hour, maybe not even that, had only been a very bad nightmare.

Didn't matter. His Papa was there and hugged him and carried him and that was what was important and he snuggled his head against his neck and sighed happily.

His Papa had been grumpy and Harry had learned his lesson. Never talk to grumpy Papa.

xx

Septima sat, utterly dumbstruck and puzzled and alone on her sofa. A moment before, she had the boy on her lap, telling him a condensed version of why she had been sad (not all of it, naturally, he was a boy after all. A little boy) and now he had left again because Snape had come for him. Snape, absolutely nice to the boy. She had always taken him for someone who did not, under any circumstances, apologise. And there he had been, on bended knee, almost in a hairshirt, apologising to a six-year-old child. Strange, the things that happened.

Still – it changed absolutely nothing. Life was just...she had no words for it. Felt good enough for a quick consolation of the boy and then being thrown away without a word of thanks, without a good bye even.

She snorted to herself. "Stop that bloody self-pitying, Tima, and get to work," she told herself and picked her up from the sofa, still smelling the boy on her shirt.

_**xx**_


	33. Chapter 33

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

His bed was – fortunately – empty. He listened first, no other breathing but his own, then he felt slowly with his feet and hands – and his bed was empty. Nobody in it but him. He had thought about, briefly, what he would do if the boy had the temerity to slip into his bed again. He had, well, no idea. But he would have probably just tried to be quiet. No need to scare the boy again. And then, after some caffeine, he would have sat him down, maybe. No, he would have to talk to him anyway. Had no idea what to tell him but the boy would have to be told that he was there permanently. Maybe, truly, make this permanent. Even more permanent. Maybe...try...maybe...adoption.

No. Too soon for that.

But he would have to reassure Harry. Couldn't have a repeat episode of what had happened the day before. Being found by a new member of staff – well – one of the few people actually in the castle at that time. He could have run anywhere, really and it had been lucky, really lucky, that Septima Vector had been there when she had been. Lucky coincidence. He would have to let her know that he did appreciate her taking the boy in. Unimaginable what could have happened if he had run somewhere else. Or – if she had not found him. That would have been even worse. He could still be cowering behind the bloody suit of armour, with pneumonia – or frozen to death. Despite himself, Severus shivered at the thought. Did not want to imagine that. Under his responsibility. Terrible thought.

He wouldn't be in this dilemma – having to take care of the boy at all – if Lily hadn't died. He wouldn't have been in this dilemma at all if bloody Petunia Evans had loved the boy and treated him like she should have treated him.

Petunia Evans.

Severus had his reputation as evil bat of the dungeons for a reason. Every single student knew that by the end of the first lesson with him. It was no secret that he liked, to a point, to see some students, some others, humiliated. It was, maybe, a part of his growing up, of his adolescent years and there were moments when he was not proud of that. However, he tried and keep his wish for others to be humiliated to those, usually, he considered deserving of said humiliation. Certainly James Potter would have been a candidate, as were his three other Gryffindor friends – and, in this case – Petunia Evans. Petunia Evans and her husband and that son of theirs.

The deserved everything that anyone would dish out. And here, probably anyone – had to be him. That boy, Harry, had only suffered at their hands. He had, yes, been clothed and fed, but both of those not nearly enough. He had been hit, he had been humiliated. Severus believed in getting even.

And as he sat up in his bed, hearing Harry coughing delicately in the living room (the boy had obviously learned a lesson), he knew what he had to do. Get even with Petunia Evans on behalf of Harry Potter.

On the other hand, he knew, putting on his socks in the cold dungeons, that he should not just run into their home and wreak havoc. First of all, the boy was probably still in some kind of crisis over his running away the day before and Severus knew he had to be very clear on this. No running away. He ran his hands through his hair. He had many things to learn, it seemed if he wanted to keep up with the child. If he wanted to come to terms with actually having – almost – a child.

xx

She knew Severus would never take the time to acknowledge what Septima Vector had done in taking care of Harry and finding him. He was too inconsiderate for that, probably. And besides, Minerva knew she didn't know the woman very well yet. Yes, she remembered her as a student, as she remembered most of her students, but that wasn't enough. As a student, she had been only interested in Arithmancy and to an extent, Charms. All the other subjects, she only just passed. Four NEWTs, in Arithmancy and Charms, Transfiguration and History of Magic. Not truly a brilliant student but an extraordinary Arithmancer. Her parents had died, she remembered, killed by running wild Death Eaters – Lucius Malfoy's participation had been rumoured but couldn't be proven. Naturally.

It had been after You-Know-Who's defeat, naturally, and there had been no support system for her. No Order that could help her then. Those deaths had been sort of, well, gone under. Had just been two of many, and forgotten by most. Maybe a mistake. Most likely a mistake.

And again, Minerva wasn't sure what had gone through her husband's head – or if he had even considered this – when he had asked her to join the staff at Hogwarts. Maybe it had something to do with it, even though it was, in her opinion, a bit late for that.

She wasn't sure about all of that – but she, at least, was on her way up to her. Talk to her a bit more, thank her for helping Harry, for finding him. That much, she deserved. And maybe, well, there had been that incident the day before – before Harry had vanished. She had almost forgotten about it. But she had looked utterly distressed and close to tears when she had bumped into the boy. She would try and get the reason for that out of her as well.

Minerva knocked on the door to her rooms and waited. It was only eight, so she hoped Septima Vector was still in and not in her office or somewhere on the grounds, or worse even, out. She wasn't sure why she felt this was urgent but she needed to talk to her as soon as possible.

The door opened a crack only and Septima Vector looked at her through that crack.

"Yes?" the young woman asked, sounding rather suspicious. Minerva could see she was fully dressed, but she didn't open her door any wider.

"May I come in?" she asked, smiling and, a moment later, the door opened.

xx

"Good morning," Harry said, very politely. He had thought about waking his Papa but then decided against it. This man, his 'fesser, was truly unpredictable when he had just woken up. This morning, he even nodded at Harry and it seemed, smiled a little.

"Good morning, Harry," he said then and Harry could feel his heart bounce in his chest. He was nice. Even before coffee or tea! Oh, maybe, he shouldn't take that seriously either, then? Well, he would just have to wait and be as quiet as possible. He could do that. Especially with Rhubarb purring in his lap, tickling his fingers with his long tongue.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked softly, looking up at his Papa.

"Yes, thank you," he replied – and he seemed a little surprised. "Did you?"

Harry nodded eagerly, smiling. "Yes."

"Well, good," his Papa grumbled and sat down at the table, knocking on it and a moment later, gulping down his tea. Sometimes, Harry had noticed, there was tea in the mornings, sometimes coffee. He would have to find out what that meant.

Harry just sat and waited. He really wanted to be good. It had been an idiotic mistake to just run away and hide. He was glad though that Tima had found him and had talked to him and that the two of them had had a very, very good time. He liked Tima a lot now. She was very nice, even though a bit sad. And who wouldn't be sad without parents and friends? He knew what it was like. It was lonely and now that he didn't have to be lonely anymore because he had his Papa and Minerva and Peeves and Neville, he didn't want anyone else to be lonely. But Harry was smart. He would only ask his Papa if he could see Tima after he had gulped down his second cup of coffee. And then only very, very carefully. No, he did not want to misunderstand his Papa again and feel that his Papa did not want him anymore. That had been an utterly strange, horrible feeling. He never wanted to feel this again.

Really, it had been better when he had been with Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon and had known that nobody could ever want him – and so much worse to know what it could be like to have someone like a Father. Someone to love. He did not want to lose it. No. Not at all.

"Why are you shaking your head?" Papa asked and Harry closed his eyes in embarrassment. He had shaken his head? Oh dear. His Papa must have thought he was utterly loopy. And maybe he was. Shaking his head just because he didn't want to leave his Papa ever again.

"I was just..." he began, fidgeting on his chair.

"You were just?" his Papa asked, his eyebrows high up and when Harry took a peek, he noticed that his second cup was almost empty so he took the risk. It was a violation of the rules, he knew, but otherwise, it would never get out.

"Ishookm'headcosIdonwannaleaveyouever'gain," he whispered.

"Excuse me?" he said, slowly and carefully.

xx

The boy was incomprehensible when he muttered like that and strung words together. It had almost sounded like 'I shook my head because I don't want to leave you ever again,' but that couldn't possibly be. Why should he shake his head for that?

He growled low in his throat and tried to stare Harry down but the child only looked at something – oh, the ruddy Puffskein – on his lap. Severus had no other choice but to drink the last sip of his tea, get up and walk around the table. He had no other choice but to cup the boy's chin in his hand and force his head up. Not that he planned to use Legilimency – he could read Harry fairly well now without it, but he wanted to look the little fiend in the eyes when he spoke with him.

"Well?" he asked, not noticing that he half knelt on the floor, not towering over the boy but being eye to eye indeed. Slowly, Harry's eyes wandered from his lap up to Severus's eyes and held his gaze steadily. He looked a bit afraid, a bit embarrassed and the moment the child opened his mouth, Severus knew he was in for another long, long, long explanation and thousands of questions again.

"I was just shaking my head because I never want to leave here again. Because I know now that you love me because you came for me and took me from Tima, even though I still want to go play with her and be with her because she has so yummy biccies and she said she's lonely and has no friends and her parents are dead as well and then I thought that you're sort of my father now and that you let me call you Papa and that I don't want to leave you again because it was just stupid at Aunt Petunia's because she hated me and I don't want to be hated now when I know what it's like not to be and because I love you and don't ever want to go anywhere else ever again," he said – rapidly, but comprehensible. It was, however, Severus noticed, difficult for him to understand the words. Well, no, the meaning of the words behind it.

He took a deep breath and once more, tried to swallow around a rotten lump in his throat. Why did those bloody lumps always appear when it was truly necessary and important to form the right words?

"Harry," he said, his voice raw again, "you will not have to leave here again. Even if the two of us fight and even if you think in your little head," he rapped his knuckles on the child's head, "that I do not want you to live here anymore, you're wrong. This is for all intents and purposes now your home."

Harry looked at him – long and hard. His mouth fell open as if he wanted to say something, then it snapped close again – just before it fell open again and the snapped close again. "M-m-m-my home?" he whispered breathlessly after a moment.

"Yes, your home," he replied – unsure why the boy would seem so surprised by this.

"I have a home now?"

"You had a home before," Severus argued, frowning and only his hand that was, miraculously, still around the child's chin kept Harry's shakes of the head to a minimum.

"I didn't..." he said, clearly stricken, "Aunt Petunia always said that I could live there but that as soon as I was old enough, I'd have to find a place of my own. That would then be my home. Where I lived wasn't my home. It was just Aunt Petunia's home and Uncle Vernon's home and Dudley's home. Not mine. I just slept in the cupboard under the stairs."

Severus took a deep breath. So – Albus had installed blood wards, that much he had known. He had known also, that this would protect the boy if – and only if – he called that place home. He had not been under any protection at all. He never had called that house home. And apparently, for him, a home was even bigger than a room of his own.

Oh, Petunia would pay dearly for this. She and that bloody husband of hers and that child. He would make sure of it.

But Harry still looked at him with a sort of anxious expression and Severus could feel his own soften. While he had, admittedly, had a rotten childhood of his own, he always had a home. Always. He still did – away from Hogwarts. Spinn...oh, that was unsuitable for a child at the moment. But maybe, well, Apparition could bring him from Surrey to Lancashire within seconds and he could make room for the boy. He could give him a second home.

Severus understood for the first time what he really had in his hands there.

It wasn't about the safety of the Wizarding World, it wasn't about his own safety or about Harry's safety. It wasn't, quite, about self-preservation, it wasn't about paying back his debts to Lily Evans. In his hands, he had the undiluted happiness of an innocent child.

xx

She sat, utterly puzzled. So far, all the Deputy Headmistress had done, had been invading her rooms, then ordering tea from the house elves, had then sat herself down and was now waiting for her to join her. Septima didn't understand why and she truly did not even want to know why. She had things to do, books to read, music to listen to, things, just, to do. And yet that woman sat there, smiling in what Septima guessed was meant to be encouraging and seem to wait for something.

Truth be told, Professor McGonagall had somewhat scared her, even as a student. And it honestly wasn't any different now. She had only called her the day before, telling her that Harry was safe because she had not wanted to come face to floo with Severus Snape.

"I want to thank you," she suddenly said.

"What for?" Septima asked suspiciously.

"Finding Harry," she laughed, rubbing her forehead. "We were worried about him. I think I told you that he was sick and, well, after that, we were all out of our minds, Harry misunderstood something Severus said and just...no. Septima, Harry Potter," she stopped, her smile vanished, "he came to live here because his relatives did not want him. And you know what role he played, or not, we can't tell, really, what happened that night when...you know what happened, and Harry needs to be protected. If he had run away yesterday, or if he had somehow left, well, I don't even want to imagine what could have happened to him. There are..."

"People out there who want to harm him," she interrupted, understanding, suddenly, and surprised by that thanks, "I see."

"We need to protect him. And him running away is basically the worst case scenario. I can say that, I think, Hogwarts is safe, but f he had taken the other way and had run out of the castle, there's no telling what could have happened."

Septima nodded. "I understand."

"And it was very kind of you to alert me and to watch him."

"It was my pleasure," she said quietly, remembering the way the little body had pressed itself to hers, seeking comfort and seeking consolation and nearness. "I like Harry very much."

"He's a delightful boy. And...," Minerva McGonagall took a deep breath, "yesterday, before all this, he wanted to go and console you. He was worried because he thought you looked sad."

Septima nodded. "He told me."

"And?"

Her guards went up immediately, barriers she had built over the years. She could not trust people, she would not trust people. At least not adult people. Harry was something else. Harry understood what it was like, even though he was only a little boy. Minerva with her husband and her bunch of friends and loving colleagues – she would not. And she had no business knowing.

"Nothing," she smiled benignly. "Harry is a sweet little boy."

"And you are alright? Happy?"

"Of course," she nodded and took a sip of the tea that Minerva McGonagall had ordered.

"You would tell me if there is a pro..." she stopped and stared at the fireplace, "Your floo."

"Excuse me," Septima said, wishing the woman would go away, wishing she was alone, not knowing who could possibly floo-call her. Her of all people.

"Hello!" she heard and her heart skipped a beat. Harry! "Papa lets me do this, it's really cool! I can see you."

"I can see you, too," she said voicelessly.

"Papa says I can spend some time with you, if you say yes. Do you want to spend time with me? We can play gobstens, or whatever it's called what you said yesterday."

Septima took a deep breath. There she had been, all night long, worrying over nothing. The boy wanted to spend time with her. With her! She was quick to answer. "Of course. Tell your Papa I'll pick you up in ten minutes in the dungeons, okay?"

"Yay!" Harry shouted into the floo, causing a few green sparks to fly, then turned his head and she couldn't hear what was said until he turned his head into the floo again. "He says it's okay!"

"Okay," she laughed happily. "I'll be down in ten minutes."

She faced the Deputy Headmistress who only looked at her very interestedly and smirked. "Interesting. Very interesting."

_**xx**_


	34. Chapter 34

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**xx**_

Most of all, he liked those circumstances when he thought up a truly magnificent, brilliant plan. A plan that was so superb that nobody else could have thought of it. A plan so well thought out that it could not fail.

And with such a plan, he was now on his way to Surrey. A bottle in the pocket of his old, worn robes. A moaning, complaining, grumbling bottle. It had not been easy to convince Peeves to jump into the bottle, to be carried away to a strange place but when he had mentioned the Dursley's treatment of Harry – he had been all evil smirks and wicked grins and bouncing eyebrows. And he had stuff things in his pockets Severus didn't even want to know what they were and had vanished into the bottle – like the fairytale genie in a bottle. And he would just leave the opened bottle at the Dursleys.

They wouldn't know what hit them. Wouldn't know at all – and that might even taken literally if he considered those things Peeves had in his now invisible, small, not truly there, pocket.

Still, the bottle grumbled and complained even more after Apparating but Severus kept on walking, in his wizarding attire, down the street, very openly, striding. He made sure, as good as he could, that everyone, every single woman behind twitching curtains saw him almost strutting down the street and knocking, only a moment later, on Petunia Evans's, well, Dursley's door.

He knew it was the morning, he knew her husband and son would probably not be at home but all the better. He could quietly put the bottle somewhere, uncork it, insult Petunia, then leave again. Simple. Then Apparate to Lancashire, take a good look at Spinner's End, then back to Hogwarts.

As he waited at the door to be opened (and he would open it by force if he had to), he remembered the joy on the face of Septima Vector when Harry had run into her arms and had hugged her. She had been truly happy to see that child. Harry's words had then returned to his mind – about her being lonely and having no family and no friends. And he had understood the joy on her face a little better. And her hugging Harry so tightly. Maybe, he thought, he had understood. Or maybe not. What did he know about human minds, apart from the fact that he could delve into them? What did he know about that person? What did he know about raising children.

Oh, he knew one thing – as soon as the door to that insufferable bourgeois house opened – Petunia Evans was very afraid.

"Good morning, _Tuney_," he sneered. "Mind if I come in?" he put his foot between the door and the frame just before she tried to slam it back into his face. "No, of course not. You're always so polite and the neighbours are watching," he added in a stage whisper.

The woman, bloody Petunia only stood and stared, dumbstruck as he pushed himself into the terrible house. No wonder Harry had wanted to escape. It was almost like a church, worshipping a fat, other boy. Dudley. Every wall in the house was plastered with pictures of him. And that was by no means a good looking boy. He had no neck but five or six chins, and watery eyes and a wicked smile. He radiated bully from those pictures.

But – this was not the time. Severus quickly and wandlessly disillusioned the bottle that remained remarkably quiet and send it flying underneath the wardrobe, uncorking it already. Petunia Evans was still busy getting her bearings however and didn't seem to notice. The bloody woman was afraid. Nothing more and nothing less. She was afraid of him and Severus liked that – very much. She ought to be afraid.

"Well, well, well, Tuney," he sneered. "It is funny to hear from your nephew how you took care of him. Throwing him in that cupboard? Not nearly feeding him enough? Only providing a place to sleep and he had to earn this by doing too many chores? What would Lily say, Tuney? And worse, what would your mother say?"

"I didn't want the child," she spat, obviously now again with her equilibrium back, "Vernon and I always said we only wanted one and then I get burdened with a freak," she hissed the last word.

"Ah yes, us freaks. I remember that," he smirked evilly, "Do you remember that too? Us freaks. You know, Tuney, jealousy is a very, very ugly thing. And you were always jealous because we were so...normal," he hissed the last word as well. "And normal is boring. But you've perfected boring, haven't you? In this house and in this neighbourhood. Do your wonderful neighbours know where you came from? What your parents were? Simple, poor people. Kind people. And you social-climbing rat. Your parents are rotating in their graves. As does Lily."

"I...I...," she spluttered.

"You...you...what?" he said in his most soft and malicious tone. "You will suffer as Harry has suffered. Maybe worse but you're older. And stronger? No. You never were strong, Tuney. Always weak and hiding and marrying the first fat bastard that came your way because you were afraid you'd end up an old, freakish spinster. Wasn't that the case?"

"I...I love Vernon. We married for love," she stuttered.

"Oh, I'm sure," he continued, raising his wand a little higher on her, "but wasn't it your dream, once, to marry a wizard? Have freakish little children and a freakish little home and being a witch yourself? Didn't you want that? Or am I misinformed?"

"I never wanted such a thing," she exclaimed passionately.

"It is no use saying those words," he said slowly. "I can see into your mind."

"Get out!" she shouted.

"In a moment, I will," he sneered. "However, maybe you could admit to your jealousy of your sister. And your jealousy of Harry for being such a polite, sweet child instead of the blob you have as a son? A son you know will grow up to be just as plain, just as boring, just as stupid as his father?"

"I'm not jealous!" she shivered with rage.

"Interesting," he almost chuckled and raised his wand to have it pointed at her chest. "The green-eyed monster. Well, let's take this a step further, shall we?"

He whispered an incantation under his breath and a spark of light shot from his wand, hitting Petunia in the chest. She shrieked, loudly, but when she realised that she wasn't hurt, she merely gaped and clutched her hand to her chest. It was then that she shrieked even louder and more furious. It made Severus smile. He hadn't had that much fun in ages. Her hands, as well as the rest of her body, from split-end hair to ingrown toenail was bright, Slytherin green. No soap in the world could wash that off. No doctor in the world would be able to remove it and no make up could over it up.

"I'll be back," he said, his voice deep and rumbling. "Until then, I suggest that you stay hidden under furniture or carry and umbrella with you at all times."

She gaped at him, at her hand, then at him again and he was close to laughing.

"Peeves!" he shouted, just before he turned on his heel and Apparated right from the house.

xx

Harry loved loved loved Gobstones! It was an icky, gooey, stinking mess that hit you every time you made a mistake, every time you almost lost. It was fun and for a while, he didn't even want the Stones to go where they were supposed to go. He wanted to be sprayed with the stinking stuff and Tima let him. She didn't care about her carpet and her floor and other than Aunt Petunia, she only laughed when there was something landing on it. It was awesome cool! She didn't once get angry or shouted but merely sat with him on the floor, cross-legged and played with him. With Gobstones!

Harry like Tima as a playmate. She didn't talk as much as Papa but she answered mostly every question he had. Not all of them but maybe she couldn't and then she said that she didn't know. But some time during their fifth or sixth game of Gobstones, Harry began to miss his Papa. It was maybe just an idea, or what he wanted it to be, but he truly wanted his Papa to sit there on the floor with them and play. But Papa on the floor? Somehow, Harry doubted that. Papa was more a chair-sitter. Or a stander. He didn't much sit on the floor. Though, well, he had knelt the day before.

And – Papa had said he had a home now. A home with Papa! And that thought alone made him want to just close his eyes and lay back flat on the floor and sigh in utter happiness. A home and a brilliant one at that. With his own room and his own bed and Papa just next door whenever he needed him and Papa not wanting him to leave, ever.

He was so deep in thought that he completely missed another Gobstone spitting stuff and had to laugh when it hit him in the face. And Tima laughed with him but it wasn't a mean kind of laugh, it was just the way he laughed as well and she grabbed him, suddenly and with a tissue, wiped his face while she cuddled him – at the same time. Tima was nice, really, really nice. And he loved that she was so cuddly and warm and soft.

But, deep inside, he knew he missed his Papa. He wanted to produce that gooey stuff and wanted to squish things and wanted to read to Papa.

And just when he thought he was about to cry for his Papa, there was a knock on the door and Tima opened it with her wand, and Papa came in! Harry shot him an adoring glance because Papa always knew when he needed him (well, most of the time anyway) and, despite the goo and the smell, he kissed Tima quickly on the cheek before running to him.

He did not shout 'Papa' even though he wanted to but the last time he had overdone it with that title, Papa had been angry. So his shout came out more like: "Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhh," and with that, he threw himself, goo and smell and all, into his Papa's arms. He didn't care and he knew that Papa could just take the mess away with his wand and Papa didn't even seem to mind.

He just put his hands on Harry's shoulder.

"Hello," Harry smiled up. "Tima and I play Gobstones. Do you want to play with us?"

His Papa looked at Tima with a rather strange, thinking expression on his face and shook his head, not even looking at Harry. "No, thank you," he said – but again, not to Harry but to Tima. "but thank you for watching him. Harry and I have some place to go."

"You're welcome," Tima said softly, busying herself with the Gobstones and cleaning up the mess while Harry looked up, puzzled at his guardian.

"Where are we going?" he asked impatiently. "What are we doing?"

"You'll see," Papa replied steadily but there was some sort of glee on his face before it turned serious again as he looked at Tima again. "Thank you."

"My pleasure," she said and as she looked at Harry, her voice got steadier. "You're welcome here any time."

"Yay!" Harry whooped and jumped up and down. "But where are we going?"

"Somewhere," Papa replied with a smirk and grabbed Harry's shoulders gently and guided him out of the room.

"Can you really not tell me where we're going? Is it a surprise? It's not the doctor, is it? Aunt Petunia always said we'd go somewhere nice, well, she said that to Dudley and then we went to the doctor. And that wasn't very nice. Dudley at least always got a lolly afterwards or an ice-cream but she never gave me anything and I really hate shots and that kind of thing. We're not going to the doctor, okay?"

Papa shook his head sternly. "No, we are not going to the doctor's and if we went, I would tell you beforehand. Besides, you do know that we don't have doctors here but..."

"Healers!" Harry nodded excitedly. "Yes, you told me. And they are much cooler than doctors."

"I'm glad you think so," Papa replied with that weird, strange voice. The only that told Harry that he should not take everything seriously. "Wait until you tried Pepper-Up Potion."

"What's that?" Harry asked, and did not realise how his Papa steadily led him out of the castle.

"It is a potion that you will get when you've a cold."

"And what does it do?"

"It makes steam come out of your ears," Papa said in his story-telling voice that was much softer than usually.

"No, it doesn't," Harry argued. He simply couldn't believe it.

"But it does. And if you like, you can have some."

Harry shook his head quickly. "But will it make my ears warm? Is steam always warm? Or will the steam blow through my brain first? What if I have too much or too little brain and the steam can't come out properly? Or what if you have that icky stuff in your ear? What's it called? Earwax? What happens to the steam then? Will it stay in your head?"

Papa arched one of his eyebrows really prettily and suddenly, Harry was picked up and found himself nose to nose with his Papa. "Keep your eyes and mouth closed," he whispered in Harry's ear and a moment later, Harry knew they were Apparating again and landed, before Harry's brain registered much more, on a sort of muddy riverbank, behind a long row of houses. They weren't as clean and tidy as the house he had lived in with Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon but the garden they had just landed in was really pretty. There were a lot of flowers, ready to be picked for Minerva and Tima, and some neat rows of green stuff that Harry didn't know. The house looked almost freshly painted and the windows were very, very clean.

"Where are we?" Harry asked breathlessly, still sitting on his Papa's hip like a toddler (not that he cared. He wanted to sit there and enjoy being in his Papa's arms and look at the pretty, beautiful garden and the windows that showed him and his Papa hugging).

"We're in the garden of your second home," Papa explained gently.

xx

Oh he knew it had been a bad idea. The boy was obviously used to better, cleaner, more wholesome things. The way he wouldn't allow him to set him on his feet, the way he seemed to cling to him tightly. There he was, labouring under the delusion that the boy would appreciate a second home – even if it was a little run down and not up to usual standards but apparently, it wasn't enough.

"Well, if you don't like it," he said, grumbling.

"No," Harry almost shouted in his ear, "I love it! The garden is so pretty and beautiful and can I pick some flowers for Minerva and Tima? But a second home? I'm glad I have one. You didn't take it from anyone, did you?"

Severus sighed. The boy did, obviously, not mind the shabbiness. He just didn't understand the concept of a home and school. And he wanted to pick flowers.

"Look," the boy whispered then and pointed his finger at the windows he had washed with a little magical aid. What was he going on about now?

"What?" Severus snapped. It had been a lot of effort. Household spells were not truly his forte.

"We look like a Papa and his son," Harry whispered in his ear and it took him a moment to see it. A moment in which there was another lump lodged in his throat and a moment in which the heat in his chest blossomed again and a moment in his he made sure that the boy could not possibly escape his grasp.

But Harry was right. It looked like the image of a father – holding his son.

"Would, erm, would you like to see your room here?" he asked, voicelessly, and the answer was loud cheers and probably a bruised hipbone later on.

xx

Papa put him down as soon as they reached the back door and Harry understood. He was already quite big and maybe too heavy to be carried around all the time like he wanted. But he nevertheless pushed his hand into his Papa's and he grabbed it tight. Papa knew what Harry needed and it made him smile.

He had not, in all honesty, understood yet what this house was about, but maybe...oh yes...maybe.

"Is this your home when you're not at Hogwarts? Like a holiday home?" he asked, looking up at his Papa.

He looked at Harry and stopped, just inside, in the kitchen, it seemed. "Yes," he replied slowly.

"Okay," he nodded.

"And it's your home, too, when we're not at Hogwarts," he added and Harry closed his eyes, blinked then, then stared with wide open eyes.

"Harry," his Papa said impatiently, "have you still not understood? You live with me. And if I come here for the holidays, you will come with me. If not, you will stay with me at Hogwarts. You have two homes. And now we're going to see your home."

Harry was absolutely speechless as it was beginning to sink in. Yes, he had understood, up to a point. But having two homes was almost too much. No, not almost too much, it was definitely too much. He couldn't have two homes. Not possibly.

"I can't have two homes," he whispered.

"And why ever not?"

"Because I did nothing," Harry whispered again, staring at the floor but suddenly, he was swept up and found himself sitting on a table with his Papa sitting on a chair to look him in the eyes.

"You do not have to do anything to deserve to have a home. You deserve much more than this. Living in a cupboard under the stairs and just being put up with is not what you deserved. You deserve to have a home and a family. Do you understand that?"

Slowly, Harry shook his head. He did not understand. He did not deserve it. He had not done _anything_.

His Papa, his 'fesser, glared almost evilly. "You are a child. And you deserve to be happy. No, don't shake your head," he cupped his face in his big hands and Harry couldn't help but sort of lean into the touch. "You deserve it. Stop shaking your head, Harry."

"B-but I really haven't done anything," he whispered, trying not to look at his Papa.

"What's there to do?"

"I could, I dunno, cook," he said meekly.

"You do not have to cook and you do not have to do anything. Stop shaking your head! Okay, listen. We will make that simpler. It's a gift. A present."

"What is?"

"The home. Two homes. I'm giving you two homes as a present," his Papa looked a little smug and Harry frowned. He wasn't sure if he should get that present. It was too big. And there was no reason to give him a present.

"It's not my birthday," he whispered.

"It just was, wasn't it? I'm a bit late," he replied smugly.

"Really?"

Papa sighed. "Really."

"Really?"

"Really. And stop shaking your head. I will hammer it in your little daft head if I have to. This is your home as well."

"My other home?"

"Your other home."

"Really?"

"I will not do that again, Harry," his Papa said gently and Harry squinted. He had two homes. Both of them had been presents by his Papa. He had not one but two places he could call home! Harry found himself whimpering and before he could say thank you or anything else, his Papa had swept him up in his arms and hugged him. Or maybe he had flown into his Papa's arms. He wasn't sure and he didn't care.

_**xx**_


	35. Chapter 35

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**xx**_

When Vernon Dursley returned home from his office at Grunnings, directing all that making of drills he was surprised to find his wife and his little son cowering underneath the table, surrounded by darkness. He was puzzled, naturally, since both of them were cowering and Petunia held Dudders very tightly in her arms but he could see absolutely no reason why they should do that. Yes, there was a strange smell in the air, like someone had left some old vegetables lying around, but otherwise, things seemed to be normal. And the freak-boy was gone, luckily, so this could have nothing to do with it.

"What are you doing down there?" he hollered, his face read. This was unseemly.

"Hiding from me," he heard a strange voice. A sneering voice, a mocking voice. A voice that came from nowhere and Vernon Dursley whipped his head around, searching frantically for the source of the voice. He stared at the cupboard under the stairs, the same cupboard the freak-boy had slept in and out came something. Something strange and he felt himself going pale and everything going cold and his eyes widen. He was close to running and hiding underneath the table together with his dear wife and his son but this was his home! Nobody invaded his home!

"What are you?" he asked, staring at the half-visible tiny man flying through his living room.

"I am Peeves!" that creature cackled and suddenly, Vernon Dursely found himself drenched with something smelly and something sticky. "And I am a Poltergeist!"

Vernon raised his fist and shook it at the flying, zooming thing and scrambled, as best as he could, underneath the table as well.

"Petunia!" he shrieked.

"What?" she shrieked back and he pointed at her skin. Bright green skin. "I know," she continued to shriek. "It was..."

"Thinking you can play hide and seek with Peevesy?" the flying thing cackled, "Peevesy knows where you are and Peevesy has a job to do!"

A moment later, something else – sticky and smelly and disgusting, zoomed underneath the table and covered, suddenly, all three of them.

xx

The boy was clearly exhausted. He had stared at Severus's former room, which was now his room and which had nothing in common with the room Severus had grown up in. He had magically painted the walls a nice sort of beige and had transfigured the old furniture into better things. There were bookshelves and his mother's old set of Gobstones, an empty shelf which could hold toys, a wardrobe for clothes. Nothing special, he hadn't even hung pictures on the walls – well – there was one. On the boy's nightstand. Magically copied. It had been a risk, yes, and he hadn't been sure whether he should have done it – but in the end, he had.

It was a picture of Lily. Lily in the summer just before he had – well – made that mistake. A muggle picture, taken by her mother and stolen by Severus from the Evans's house in the first place. It was just a plain old picture of Lily in their garden. Just smiling, nothing special but Harry had become a little teary-eyed when he had seen it and had thrown himself at Severus again. He had not said anything at all and Severus did not know what to say and so he had held the boy. Again. This was becoming a habit and Severus couldn't honestly say that he was used to it at all. But there, under the eyes of the teenage Lily he had known and loved – it had been simpler. It had caused another lump to lodge itself in his throat.

He had to, well, after staring at Lily and smelling the boy's hair and holding his shaking back, leave the room for a while and had left the boy to explore this room. And when he looked over his shoulder, just before moving to his parents' old bedroom (which did not resemble the old, musty, dusty room at all anymore), Harry had picked up the frame and traced his mother's young features with a gentle finger.

He had then sat, for a long while, just in his own new room, a room he had decorated in browns and beiges as well. A solid bed, just as stood in his rooms at Hogwarts and as he sat on there, his face in his hands, he felt absolutely overwhelmed by that day.

He had done his best to be nice to the child. To be neither sarcastic nor mean and it wasn't easy. It wasn't easy at all and Lily's picture and her green eyes staring tearily up him – it hadn't made it simpler either. But he had agreed to be the boy's guardian and he would try his best to be nice to the boy. As nice as someone like him could possibly be. Not more, not less. He did not have to be a kind person to his students or the Headmaster or anyone. Just the boy. Nothing more, nothing less.

He barely noticed how his eyes fell shut and how he lay down – only briefly – on the bed. He didn't notice how he fell asleep and he didn't hear Harry snoring slightly in the next room either. He only knew he was exhausted and needed – just a little rest.

xx

There was a Poltergeist. In their house and Petunia Dursley, who had scrubbed herself raw in the shower twice every day since that freakish monster had come to torture her, had not slept a single minute, or so it felt, that night. The Poltergeist banged against things, the Poltergeist rattled down stairs, the Poltergeist thumped up them and down, the Poltergeist began laughing evilly in the middle of the night.

She had wanted to leave – had said she would go to stay at Marge's, as she had sent Dudley there but Vernon, oh Vernon had been adamant. He had taken off from work for the time being and he said he would never leave the house to a Poltergeist. Instead, her idiotic husband had begun to get all kinds of books from the library concerning the banishing of Poltergeists. Not that any of them helped – on the contrary, the Poltergeist only threw them at them.

And her skin was still green! After scrubbing it raw it was a bit lighter and tinged with a little pink but she truly wanted to leave. It had almost been a week that she'd been green and the Poltergeist was robbing her of any kind of peace. Her house stank, every surface was splattered with goo, green and grey and vomit-coloured and no matter how much she tried to clean up the mess, it was always worse the next day. Vernon kept their bedroom door locked – and even though she doubted it could keep a Poltergeist out, so far, there had been nothing in there. Except the smell. Like a dead rat underneath their bed.

It couldn't go on like this. She needed out. Petunia was close to breaking point. And Vernon, taking to walking around with necklace of garlic around his neck and had a cross dangling on the garlic as well (the Poltergeist had taken the books – and Vernon couldn't be blamed for not knowing about such freakish things). He carried a torchlight with him constantly, thinking he could blind the Poltergeist but that thing didn't care at all.

Petunia Dursley found herself on her dirty, smelly sofa, sobbing from the depth of her soul – and still didn't know what she had done to deserve this.

xx

It had been almost a week since Severus had found himself soundly sleeping in his new bed at Spinner's End, waking up only when the sun had risen again – when he had found Harry sleeping just as soundly in his new bed. Peacefully. And he couldn't remember sleeping so well for quite a while. Maybe, he had thought then, they would have to stay there for longer. And they had. As soon as the first other teachers had arrived, Severus had taken Harry to Spinner's End for the last week of the holidays. He had said good bye with a bunch of flower to Minerva, had said good bye with a bunch of flowers to Vector and he had cuddled his Puffskein and with a few clothes, they had left for Spinner's End.

He could not honestly say that he regretted it.

As far as he could tell, Harry liked the place, he liked taking the Puffskein to the garden and he liked weeding, even. He was interested in the herbs he had planted and helped him harvest, he was interested in using those herbs for the potions they brewed. And Harry laughed and smiled all the time.

Severus was astonished that this was possible and he had to admit that he himself was much more relaxed in that almost week. He had warded his place, the garden and Harry could run around anywhere – except down the road and into his lab and he could not leave the garden. But he never had tried. He was happy there.

He ran through the garden at that moment and while Severus knew that they had to return the day after, he stood at the window and watched the boy. Running around. Laughing with his Puffskein. That first evening they had stayed in Spinner's End, Harry had come to Severus's bedroom, just as Severus wanted to go to bed, with a book in his hands and sadly, had asked him to read to him because he hadn't been able to sleep. Severus had – grumblingly – read. The boy had been asleep within ten minutes. And after that, he had done it every night. It was just so much simpler to just read for ten minutes than to have the child wandering around the house because he couldn't sleep.

And Harry – Harry made it a point to hug him and give him a kiss on the cheek before sleeping. Every night. And while it had astonished Severus – he had been so proud of himself for not flinching in any way but, hesitantly, returning the hug. It was – what his parents had never done and being in this house reminded him, naturally, of his childhood. But Harry was in no way like him. He was happy here.

But then again, the way Harry lived here resembled in no way the way he had lived there. Harry received all his meals on time (even if they were, sometimes, from the fish and chip shop down the street), and he ate with him. He could take a bath, whenever he wanted and Harry did not have to be afraid to be cuffed around the ears (or worse) when being discovered reading. Harry knew that some books were warded and that he should not even try reaching for them. He had, once, and had learned from it.

"Papa!" Harry cried from the garden when he spotted Severus standing at the window and waved. "The lovage is huge now!"

Severus found himself nodding, the corners of his mouth even twitching lightly. Harry checked every day on their herb garden. Made sure everything grew and when there were snails, he picked them up and carried them away, or put them in a jar Severus had given him. Sometimes, he had explained him, snails were used in potions. He had understood, he didn't mind.

So Severus went down the stairs and out into the garden. They would have to mow the grass eventually. But for now, he liked it this way. He liked the wildness surrounding his herb garden.

Harry ran towards him as he stepped out into the garden and pulled on his hand, just dragging him along, showing him flowers he had discovered and Severus followed. He just followed and let the boy talk.

xx

Harry loved his second home! It was the most wonderful home he could imagine. He had an entire house where he could play and run and do whatever he liked. Oh – there were still rules and his Papa had even put, them together with the rules for his Papa, on the wall in the kitchen. But Harry knew there were books he shouldn't touch, otherwise there was an invisible hand that was poking him in the ribs and tickling him and he still couldn't reach the book and he knew there were those bouncy wards around the garden.

But he didn't need them. He had his Papa all to himself and he had so many things to explore! It was brilliant. But most of all, Harry enjoyed that his Papa brought him to bed and read to him. Every night since they had come to their second home. He didn't really want to go back to their first home even though he missed Minerva and Tima but he knew he had only one more day and then his Papa would return to teach those dunderheaded students and he would be taught by Neville's granny. But until now, he just wanted to spend time with his Papa – and not the kind of time that meant that Papa was looking at him from the window of his bedroom. He knew Papa did it often, though he wasn't sure why. He liked seeing his Papa too but he always smiled and made sure his Papa knew he had seen him. His Papa was different but that was okay. Ever since he had first woken him in his new bed, that first night when he had had to cry a little because his Papa had put a picture of his Mummy on his nightstand, he felt that his Papa really really loved him.

Well, no even before that he had felt it. He had not pointed at the picture – it had just been there but Harry had known it had to be him that had put it there and he had known immediately that it was his Mummy. And his Mummy had been so pretty. She smiled so happily and it made Harry happy. He always said good night to her, just before his Papa came in to make sure that he was tucked in tightly, sometimes he even tutted when one of Harry's feet had sneaked out from underneath the duvet, and before his Papa read to him. He always said good night to his Mummy, then hugged his Papa and kissed him, then his Papa read to him. Then he never new anymore, always fell asleep.

This second home truly was brilliant. There were so many flowers and herbs and he was allowed to chase away snails and bring them to another place when they were too close to eating their herbs before they could harvest them. It was cool!

His Papa was soon by his side, overlooking the garden and standing next to the huge lovage and Harry leaned against him, feeling how he draped an arm around his shoulders and sighed.

He would never have to be afraid of anything every again in this world – with two homes and a Papa that took care of him.

xx

Minerva was angry. Again. Yes, she knew her husband was away often lately. She knew vaguely that he was probably hunting for those Horcruxes. Or hunting for clues. She had wanted to go with him, she had wanted to find someone to go with him. But he was adamant. He just left and Minerva was sick of it. She was sick of dealing alone with the entire school and sick of finding him hidden beneath books, and sick of always finding him tired. Sick of him still hiding things.

And she had enough. Truly, truly enough. With quick steps, she ascended to her husband's office. Most of the teachers were back and neither of them had yet seen him. He just hid and searched and never talked to anyone anymore. Not even to her. He just fell tiredly into bed.

She whispered the password and stepped into the room – to find it in utter disarray. Books were pulled from the shelves, scattered around the room, Fawkes fluttering madly around, his knick-knack all around the room, not on their shelves, the portraits – all of them – empty.

"Albus!" she cried – worried, very worried. "Albus!"

She spotted a patch of grey behind his desk and with flowing, billowing robes, she rushed there to find her husband – lying on the floor.

_**xx**_


	36. Chapter 36

_**The usual disclaimers apply**_

_**xx**_

Minerva knelt, and she felt she was close to screaming. There was a trickle of blood coming from her husband's temple. Her heart was hammering against in her chest, burning, stopping, hammering again. She felt close to screaming, or maybe fainting and she daren't touch him. He lay there so lifelessly, his mouth open and his hair and beard unruly and that trickle of blood. She only felt herself biting her lip hard and one of her hands clutching her wand, the other in a vice-like grip on her chest.

"Och Merlin," she heard someone whisper and she knew it must have come from her but it wasn't her voice. "Och Albus," she heard then. She didn't see – there was a veil or something in front of her eyes and only a faint sob told her that it was her that was crying and that the veil consisted of tears.

"Albus," she heard a whimper and felt something pushing her towards the man she loved. The man who had always angered her and who annoyed her and who always put his socks anywhere and who pulled always books from the shelves and never put them back and who always rolled on her side of the bed during the middle of the night and who always had her in his arms by morning and who always woke her with a tickling kiss and who always hugged her when she needed a hug and whom she had loved since she was eighteen years old. And that man now lay there, his eyes closed and his mouth a little open and bleeding from his temple.

She found herself – with her head on her husband's chest, crying, her wand lying on his stomach and her hand not clutching her chest but his.

But there – she heard his heart. She knew that sounds from decades of falling asleep to that sound and there it was. Strong, even. But...

"Albus!" she cried and wiped the tears roughly out of her eyes before she shook him. "Albus!"

No coma for her husband. Whatever he had done, no coma. Not like Harry. This couldn't happen to her another time. "Albus!" she pushed against his shoulders. She would not let him fall into that sleep. She would not.

"Wake up!" she heard herself scream – almost, uncharacteristically, hysterically. But this was her husband. Lying on the floor of his office. This was her husband and his Phoenix was fluttering above them just as hysterically as she felt, his office was a mess and – what if someone had broken in? His temple was bleeding. Someone had maybe hit him. Or hexed him and...

"For Merlin's sake, wake up," she muttered over and over again, still kneeling on the floor by his side, still holding his chest and his hand and suddenly, there seemed to be a flutter – his eyelids. Fluttering.

And a second later, his blue eyes were staring at her. And there was a smile, just as sudden, on his face.

"Minerva, my love," he said, sounding so normal as if he had just walked into a room.

"What's going on? I thought you were dead. Don't scare me like that," she couldn't believe his nerve. "What happened?"

"I think, Minerva, I have them all," he smiled and sat up with a groan, fingering his temple.

"What?"

"I have them all," he said dreamily and she felt herself pulled into his arms. "I have them all and I can...for such a long time, I dreamed and now..."

She struggled free out of his arms and slapped him – soundly – on his cheek. "You scared the hell out of me. I thought you were dead. You're bleeding. And I have no idea what's going on. I want an answer, now."

He sighed, her fingerprints clearly visible on his cheek (she could not get this slapping of people get a habit), the temple on the other side of his face still bleeding a little, and kissed her.

"I found another Horcrux," he smiled.

She couldn't help it – she slapped his cheek again. It was becoming a habit.

"Without telling me. You go and search those things and tell nobody. Didn't you learn anything from what happened to Harry?" she exploded, getting up quickly and glaring down at him where he still sat on the floor.

"Minerva, I have it under control. I have the Hallows. All three of them," he still smiled stupidly.

"You're out of your mind," she muttered. "Nobody had all the Hallows before. And why do you think you should? If, and only if, they exist."

"I have them, darling. I have them."

She shook her head at the childish, gleeful grin on his face. She did not understand that man anymore. Or not at the moment. "I don't know you anymore," she whispered sadly and left the office. She would send Poppy up to tend to his wound. Couldn't possibly deal with him anymore.

xx

Harry was sad to leave his second home. He liked having his Papa to himself and he was, a bit afraid of Neville's granny and of all the other students. But he was happy to see Minerva again and Tima and Peeves! Oh he missed Peeves! And he was ashamed to admit that there had been some days, really, when he had not even thought about his friend – and that was bad. But he truly felt horrible now for not thinking about him. Or a postcard. He should have written Peeves a postcard. Aunt Marge always sent postcards when she was somewhere with her stupid dogs and Aunt Petunia always read them out loud. Oh, he should have written Minerva and Tima and Peeves a postcard.

His Papa was in the kitchen, making lunch before they'd leave for their first home again. Harry could smell the spaghetti and he liked them the way Papa made them. And he didn't even mind that they had only eaten fish and chips and egg and chips and spaghettis on toast since they had come to their second home, on the contrary. He liked it. And his Papa made him eat an apple with everything – or afterwards. Well, most of the time, they shared an apple. Harry could see that his Papa didn't like apples very much either. He made that grumbly face always and Harry understood.

"Papaaaa?" he asked hesitantly from the door. He did say Papa now all the time. Papa didn't mind at all, sometimes he even seemed to almost smile when he said it first thing in the morning or late at night. But only almost.

"Yes?" he asked, looking up from where he had stirred in a pot, warming up the tinned spaghetti.

"I..., erm, we should have sent Minerva and Tima and Peeves a postcard," he said quietly.

"Whatever for?" Papa asked.

"Because whenever Aunt Marge was somewhere with her stupid dogs, she sent one and Aunt Petunia could always...she liked it," he argued softly. "And they're my friends. Piers sent Dudley a postcard once from somewhere. I want to be a good friend."

His Papa sighed and looked at him. "People usually send postcards from their holidays. Since this is your home, there is no need to send postcards from here."

Harry nodded slowly, then shook his head. "But I think Piers's parents have a home in Spain or so and he sent a postcard from there. Aunt Petunia said they were lucky they had a, erm, whatsitcalled, shime-tare."

"Time share?" Papa asked, his eyebrows raised prettily.

Harry nodded eagerly. That had been the word. "So it's kind of a home. And he still send a postcard. And Piers' Mum send a postcard to Aunt Petunia and told her how lovely their home there was and how close it was to the beach an' all."

His Papa nodded and smirked. "She would. Living there," he said very quietly and then muttered something that Harry couldn't hear.

"But they won't be mad at me that I didn't write one? I...I didn't even think about Peeves yesterday."

"We were busy brewing yesterday," Papa argued and stirred the spaghettis again. "And Peeves is at the moment...not even at home."

"Where is he?" Harry asked immediately. "Is he on holiday?"

Slowly, Papa shook his head. "No, he is meeting relatives."

"Will I get a postcard from him?"

Papa shook his head again, but the corner of his mouth twitched again. "Peeves can't write postcards."

"Peeves can't write postcards? Why not?"

"Peeves cannot write, Harry," Papa said slowly.

"Peeves cannot write!" Harry almost shouted – scandalised. That couldn't be. His eyes grew open wide and his hands clenched to fists by his side. "I have to teach him," he said. "Papa, we have to teach him!"

Papa only smirked. "Could you set the table?"

xx

The boy had the most – ridiculous – ideas. Writing postcards to a Poltergeist. And writing postcards from a place called Spinner's End, as if it was the most wonderful place in the world. And slowly, day by day, Severus understood that, for the boy, it probably was. This was not the house he had grown up in anymore. He had dusted, he had cleaned, he had painted. Well, his wand and his magic and the old household spell book he had found in his mother's trunk had done. It did not look like the old house anymore. And it didn't even feel like the old house anymore. It felt – almost – like home.

He shook off those thoughts when he saw into Harry's happy face when he had set the table and heaped the spaghetti on toast. He knew he didn't feed the boy right. But other than the old fish and chip shop, he just did not know where to get decent food. And yes, he could brew potions to perfection but he could not cook. Had always fed himself somehow but never made it himself. Spaghetti on toast were the height of his culinary skills.

The apple after every meal was just – an excuse, really. Something to soothe his conscience. He would have to tell the elves to make more vegetables once they ate back at Hogwarts. And he would have to make sure Harry ate them. Though – he wasn't sure at all whether he should take the child to the Great Hall at all. He would have to think about it. Didn't want to expose him – and yet, he would not be able to hide that he was now guardian to a child – and, if this week was anything to judge by – his adoptive father soon. He would do that – eventually. But he could not hide that Harry existed. And that in itself was a problem.

Not a problem he could possibly think about when the boy bit into the middle of his toast and had the spaghetti up to his forehead. He only grumbled, postponed the thinking and reached over the table and wiped the spaghetti off him – chest constricting when he heard his laugh and saw his eyes glittering.

_**xx**_


	37. Chapter 37

_**The usual disclaimers apply**_

_**xx**_

Minerva was truly looking forward to seeing Harry again – and Severus. They had not parted on the best terms but he had written an owl during their stay at his home to tell her that he could not possibly do rounds the first week of term. And that was like a peace offering coming from Severus. And of course when she had made the plans for rounds, she had not put him in at all. He had a child now. He had a child living with him and that alone was reason enough to have him stay in his rooms at night. Well, naturally, she would offer to watch over Harry once in a while, she wanted to, really, but those nights he should probably use for himself. It would be hard enough for him as it was, watching over Harry, even if it was only after the boy returned from bloody Augusta, teaching, then he did love to hand out detentions and all that. No need to send him doing rounds as well.

Besides, Septima Vector had offered.

And yes, she did look forward to seeing those two boys again but she did not want to talk to her husband or even see him. And that husband just stood there – in her office (_her_ office), leaning against the wall, his temple fixed.

Minerva stared at him, then back at her papers. She did not want to hear it. She would stay in the rooms of the Head of House of Gryffindor. Those were empty anyway and only connected to their rooms – and that connection, she could break. She would just sleep there. Did not truly want to sleep in the same room she had slept all that time.

"Minerva, please?" he asked, gently. She hated when he used that voice. She was unable to not look at him when he used that voice.

"What?" she asked, coldly, keeping her brogue under control. She would not give away in how much turmoil she was and that she was emotional. Her brogue always gave her away.

"I have to explain," he said in the same voice. Manipulative man. Knew what buttons to push. Would sleep in the Tower. For sure.

"It's too late for that," she replied sternly and forced her eyes back on the parchment in front of her.

"Minerva, please? Just listen to me for five minutes," he pleaded and when she only arched her eyebrows, he conjured a chair and sat down, on the other side of the desk.

"I honestly don't think I want to hear it," she said again, pretending not to be interested. Oh, she was interested. But she would have liked to have heard it before she had found him almost dead. Or what she had considered dead.

"The Hallows, Minerva, it's no fairy tale. I have found all three – Potter's invisibility cloak, you remember, don't you? I have the wand. We both know this is a special wand and the ring I found. Yes, it is an Horcrux still but it is the Stone. Minerva, really. All three. With those..."

Her head snapped up and she glared at him. "How do you know?" she asked, pretending to be bored. "It could be any cloak. It could be any wand. It could be any stone."

"I...haven't...Minerva when I came into my office, I have the cloak stored there, with the ring that I found and with my wand, there was a kind of explosion. That's why I was on the floor. There was this very strong power surge all of a sudden. Everything rattled. The books fell from the shelves and I suppose something must have knocked me out. Why else should this happen?"

She stared at him. "Impossible," she shook her head. "It's a legend. It's not real."

"It is real. With the Hallows, I can defeat Lord Voldemort easily," he smiled again. The anger boiled up in her again, hot and heavy.

"This is all this is about," she kept her voice as calm as she could. "Defeating another enemy. You don't even see the rest. You don't know how close he is to coming back. But this is all your life was about in the last weeks. Yes, I understand it's important but there are other important things. Have you talked to any of your staff lately? Have you ever had a real conversation with Harry since he came to live here?"

"No, but this for the Gre..."

"Don't you dare say that," she said, her voice still deadly calm. "I don't care about the Greater Good. I care about individuals. I care about Severus and about Harry and about the students and staff of this school."

"I do too," he argued and she grimaced.

"You don't. I find you in your office and think you're dead and I'm out of my mind and you don't care. A moment later, you sit up and grin like a little boy and I'm out of my mind. I think I lost my husband and you just sit there and don't even explain what has happened but go on straight to telling me that you have three random magical object which you consider to be legendary, invaluable, mythical treasures and..."

"I'm sorry," he looked at her with his bright blue eyes, "I should have explained. I was so excited. I...Minerva, you know for how long..."

"I know for how long," she snapped back, but she kept her brogue under control. "But you've been chasing dreams. No matter what you think those objects are, one of them is Harry's and I hope you have destroyed the Horcrux."

He blinked slowly. "There was a curse and I brought it here carefully and wanted to remove that first before I... After the magical explosion...I..."

Minerva shook her head tiredly. "Go and destroy it. What are you waiting for? And don't even think about using it or putting it on."

xx

Severus watched as Harry happily bounced around their rooms in Hogwarts. The travelling had gone rather well and the boy had gotten used to Apparating quickly. Even though, well, he did rather hold on tighter than was strictly necessary. But then again, maybe both of them did.

"Can I go play with Peeves?" he asked suddenly, his Puffskein scurrying around his feet.

"Peeves is still not here," Severus replied – smirking internally. He would pay the Dursleys a visit as soon as Harry was watched over by someone. Oh...

"Can I go see Minerva? Or Tima?" he asked then, smiling brightly.

Oh indeed. Both of those women were probably happy to watch over him for an hour. It wouldn't take longer to check the situation in Little Whinging, and, if everything had happened to his satisfaction (which he did not doubt at all – he trusted Peeves to do this particular job right), he would return even sooner – with Peeves. And if the boy truly wanted to see either Minerva or that Vector woman, he would not have to lie to him. But before he could even answer, the boy had run towards him again and, pressed against his thigh, looked up.

"Or don't you want me to leave?" he whispered.

Severus arched his eyebrows. He would have to be careful with that again. Oh how he disliked having to watch what he said but otherwise the boy would take it the wrong way again and even though he had grown used, Severus hoped, to his sarcasm, he still had to be careful. "If you want to spend some time with either one of those women..."

"But you won't be lonely, will you?" the boy asked, squinting and Severus wasn't sure he had heard correctly. Lonely? Him? He had been alone for – ever – and lonely? Because the boy spend a little time with someone else he wanted to spend time with? Well, he was quite reasonable when it came to that, actually. He accepted, now, that he was important to the child but how could he expected to be the most important one? He was a sarcastic, mean character. And if he met any of the other teachers, he would spend less and less time with Severus. It didn't matter to him – would maybe even a relief. At least that was what he told himself. And the stab in his stomach he explained by the spaghetti on toast. Didn't matter.

"Of course I won't be lonely," he said with a rather mocking shake of the head, "Don't you think I have work to do?"

"Oh," the boy's face fell and Severus knew he had said the wrong thing again.

"And I can be done quicker if you and that Puffskein of yours are running around here."

"Done quicker?"

"That's what I just said."

"So if I actually go play with Minerva or Tima for a bit, you don't have to work when I come back?" he asked, his eyes hopeful and Severus, internally, cheered for himself. Just said the right thing again. At the last minute.

"Yes," he replied. And yes, his work was done. He was prepared for the start of term, more or less. He was not prepared for the fact that he had a child living with him and that he still had to work out a plan to keep Harry as away from the students as he could. He still had to find a way to oversee his indubitably many detentions. Maybe – even – talk with Minerva about it.

"Can I floo call Minerva? Or Tima?"

"You may," he said and added, not thinking, "but be careful."

Harry flashed him a bright smile and ran, as quick as his little feet could carry him, towards the fireplace and as Severus had shown him, he knelt down in front of it, and threw a pinch of floo powder into the cold fireplace. Severus stepped over as well and looked over his shoulder and he heard how he cried for Minerva and waited – and nothing happened.

"Hmph," Harry grumbled (much like he sounded in the mornings, he thought almost admiringly) but instead of sulking and giving up, he took another pinch of floo powder. "Septima!" he called into the fireplace. Maybe, Severus thought, he would have to explain to the boy that it didn't always work just to shout the first name of a person.

"Hello?" Harry called.

"Hello?" he heard contorted and strange from the other side of the floo.

"Hello Tima," Harry cried happily and Severus smirked to himself. She would most certainly watch him for an hour now.

xx

Petunia Evans was – in short – a mess. She wanted her old life back. She wanted a clean kitchen, a clean bathroom and a decent night's sleep. She wanted to leave this house badly, wanted to leave this Poltergeist be and even wanted to leave Vernon since he was the one who held her there. He kept her there and she didn't like it one bit. She wanted to leave. Away from those freakish things that were happening around her. She was a level-headed person. She did not normally believe in ghosts and all that crap – not even when Lily had told her all about it.

Oh yes, she had, in the few moments during the day that the Poltergeist kept quiet and did nothing, thought about it. She hated the conclusions she had drawn indeed. This freakish kind would always win. She had absolutely no chance against any kind of wizards or witches or Poltergeists or whatnot. Not the slightest chance. And she had thought about it some more. It had been right of her to treat the boy as she had treated him. She should have treated him this way – because, well, this way, he would become one of those freakish, always winning wizards. And if those wizards tried to rule over the world, all of her friends, her neighbours, herself and Vernon and Dudley, poor little Dudley, would end up being the slaves of freaks. She understood that she was being punished now. She understood that that useless son of an alcoholic, Snape, had planted that ruddy Poltergeist in her house and if she could, she would have contacted him days ago to take him away again. She understood that she was being punished by him – but it only strengthened her belief that wizards and witches were of the evillest kind and shy away from using that kind of punishment on poor, innocent, decent people. She had only done her best for the freakish boy.

She sat, crying, in the corner of the living room that was tidiest. Vernon had left her alone, had gone out to buy a gun. What kind of help a gun could be against a Poltergeist, she didn't know and she wasn't sure he knew. The way she suspected, any bullet would run straight through that blasted little horrible thing. She didn't care anymore. She simply wanted to leave.

Didn't hear notice that there was someone at the door, ringing the bell.

Only noticed that suddenly, the door was burst out of its hinges, splintering in a thousand little pieces and a second later being repaired and set into place again. Petunia pressed herself tighter into the corner, her legs pulled close to her body and her head hidden by her arms. Who knew what kind of hooligan had just come into her home? If she was as quiet as possible, nothing would happen to her. And every hooligan would be driven away by that Poltergeist, she hoped. And every thief in the world could take whatever he wanted because she certainly did not want to stay there and did not want to keep her things, as lovely as they were – had been.

"Well, well," she heard a familiar voice and her head snapped out. Snape! She jumped to her feet and all the rage, all the frustration, everything of the last week came crashing down and all the rest of her strength, she put into her fist and punched the man's chest.

Not for long, however, and then she dangled in the air, hovered, actually, and that frightful, horrible man only chuckled.

"Has Peeves been a help to you?"

"What do you want?" she shrieked. "You can have everything but take that thing away with you again!"

She did not look him in the face. She couldn't. That evil man chuckled. And she still hovered in the air.

"Let me down!" she shrieked again. Why was Vernon always gone when he came there?

"Tuney, Tuney, Tuney. I have never considered you stupid. I have considered you plenty of things but sheer stupidity of that magnitude, I had not expected. You do not know why Peeves was here? Have you asked him?"

"That thing doesn't talk."

"Peeves!" Snape bellowed and a moment later, the blasted thing zoomed through the air and cackled until it hovered next to her and bowed his head – something she only saw from the corner of her eyes.

"Your greasy Potion Mastership, Peevesy did a good job here," he clapped his hands together.

"Peeves, would you tell Mrs Dursley why you were here? And why you wanted to do such a good job?" Snape asked silkily and she could feel the threat in his voice.

"Peevesy did it for his friend!" the Poltergeist said strongly and sharply and it made Petunia look at him. "Hairy Wee Harry Potter is Peeves's friend and he was treated just as I treated all of you."

Petunia found herself on her feet again, falling, from the impact on her knees and almost defiantly, she looked up at Snape and that Poltergeist that now hovered next to his shoulder. "Freaks," she spat. "Freaks."

"Yes, indeed. I see you have not learned at all. Nothing," Snape said and a piece of parchment fluttered to the floor. "Sign that, if, in the future, I have need of it. You're a hopeless case, Tuney. But never forget this week, and if I should ever hear anything from you again, I'm sure Peeves would love a new home. With you."

xx

The boy had literally stormed into her arms. He had gathered so much speed that by the time he had reached her, she had no chance keeping herself in that crouched position and with the boy together, had tumbled on the floor. And he had laughed. She had missed that sound, she really had and she enjoyed cuddling the boy as the boy enjoyed cuddling her. Only a cough – and a completely straight face had then stopped their cuddling and Harry had said good bye to Severus Snape and he had promised to pick the child up again in about an hour.

She liked having Harry around. He was funny and loving and kind. Unprejudiced.

They had played Gobstones for a bit and afterwards, he had merely looked at her, smiled when she had vanished the mess they had made and crawled over the floor to her and on her lap, his back resting against her chest.

"I missed you, Tima," he whispered gently and it warmed her heart. It was so innocent and loving and gentle. She couldn't say anything. Such words she hadn't heard in years. Not since her parents had died actually – except, maybe, sometimes her grandmother would have liked to say it but couldn't. Damn illness. It made something crack inside of her and she wasn't sure whether it was a good – or a bad thing.

"I wanted to write you a postcard," he continued to explain softly, "but Papa said because it's our second home and because we're not on holiday, it's not necessary. But I will write a postcard next time."

"That'd be very kind of you," she replied and barely recognised her own voice.

"Can I come here often even when the students are here?"

"Of course you can," she pressed her eyelids tightly together. It wouldn't do for any tears to escape, there was no reason to cry just because she had a child on her lap while she was sitting on the floor and just because that child wanted to see her again.

He was happy with that answer, apparently, and just sighed softly.

xx

Harry loved being hugged by Tima. She was a great hugger. And Harry had a plan. Harry would ask his Papa for one afternoon or so a week which he could spend with Tima. Because then, if there was one afternoon he could spent with Tima, Papa could do all his work on that afternoon and would then have time for Harry in the evening. It was a great plan, he thought and snuggled up tighter to Tima. She wasn't as bony as Papa or Minerva and he liked that. She was warm and cuddly and soft and always rocked him on her lap. And if he was being honest, it almost felt as if he was being hugged by a Mum when he rested his head on her chest and if he closed his eyes, he almost could believe that Tima loved him.

He loved her, that was for sure. He didn't quite love her as much as he loved Papa and maybe not even as much as he loved Minerva but he loved her a lot. And she was really pretty when she smiled. But for the moment, he just wanted to enjoy being close to something almost like a Mum when there was a knock on the door and Tima – without saying anything, picked him up and carried him to the door which she opened.

"Papa!" he squealed happily and kissed Tima quickly on the cheek. "Thank you for playing with me," he whispered in her ear. "Love you!" he added and then wriggled out of her arms and held on to his Papa's hand. Tima said nothing, she just stood there and stared at him. Somehow, people always looked at him that way when he told them he loved them. Papa had done the same. Was it so weird?

Harry shrugged to himself. He would ask Papa later when he brought him to bed.

"Peeves is back, too," Papa said with a smirk and then nodded at Tima who still stared.

Harry whooped from joy and bounced and waved at her when he and his Papa left.

_**xx**_


	38. Chapter 38

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**xx**_

Severus thought and thought and thought some more. He had, albeit very briefly, talked to Minerva. Oddly enough, she had called him to tell him that she would reside in the chambers that were the Gryffindor's Head of House's. He had no understanding of the Dumbledore's marriage. Maybe they did reside in different rooms for the duration of term. Or if they ever slept in different rooms. He did not truly want to know but if she informed him that she slept in the Gryffindor tower, maybe it was something special.

He had asked her, naturally, what she thought about Harry and what to do with him but she had seemed distracted and did not know what to say. Probably, he would simply have to take him to meals with him. Yes, it would make the an impact but at least, nobody would have to know this was Harry Potter. He had no scar anymore. And he would simply tell Albus not to say anything about who the child was. Let them suspect, let them guess. He did not care. And he was – most of all – not comfortable leaving the child alone all that time. He was young and even with the wards, there was no telling what he would do without him.

And – he made it a point of eating with the boy. Had remembered himself, always having to eat alone as a child – and he had hated that. When his mother had just put something on the table and he had the choice of eating or not eating and nobody had watched how much, what and how he had eaten at all. He had to learn how to eat decently the hard way – at Hogwarts. And Harry would not share that fate. He would not share that fate at all. He knew how to use knife and fork and spoon accordingly and did not only use a spoon.

And if he could judge by facial expressions only, the boy loved eating together with him. He had enjoyed picking up things from the chippy, he had enjoyed warming up the spaghetti and putting it on toast and he liked sitting down and talking to Severus when he was eating. Harry talked, usually, and Severus did his best to listen. He had clearly inherited his mother's brains and not his blasted father's. He was interested in everything and everyone.

Severus understood that. Here, he could make friends. Without fear of being bullied later on, without having to fear his aunt or his cousin or his uncle forbidding it. And without the scar, he was just a little boy. Nothing more and nothing less. True, as soon as he'd sit down next to Severus in the Great Hall, there would be other things – he would be the son of a Head of House, or would be considered to be that, and most students did not truly like him. He would have to think about protective spells he could weave over him. Or rather heap on him.

There were some of his students in Slytherin he did not truly trust, some who thought him a traitor (which he was, naturally) and some who would check very closely who this boy was. And he did not trust any of the Gryffindors for their rashness and their not-thinking and their thinking that getting to the boy would hurt him. Idiots, the lot.

But he wouldn't see a lot of the other students, Severus knew. He would be flooed to Mrs Longbottom just before his first class and on Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays, he stayed there until Severus had finished his last class (which was quite early in the day – Minerva had been kind when she had made the schedules). On Tuesdays and Fridays, he would have to pick the boy up in a free period and then – well. He would have to think about what to do with him while he taught. Had to ask Minerva once she was less distracted.

Or maybe – well, the boy had said that he loved her. And she had stared at Harry as if he was possessed. Quite similar to the way he had stared at the boy the first time he had said it to him. But why should it come as such a surprise to her? And who the hell was this woman anyhow?

Well, she did not look quite as fat as he had thought she was. She was definitely not thin, rather rounded, in fact and had hair of that nondescript, plain, brownish-blonde colour and blue eyes. She was plain, yes, and he supposed she could be easily overlooked but when Harry had tackled her, and she had laughed, there had been a spark in her eye. And despite himself, he had rather liked that spark. It had lit up her face. And she still had that spark – only by then it had lit up all her features entirely – by the time he had come to pick Harry up. Sitting on the floor, just holding the child. Maybe, he thought, he ought to do that. Just sitting with him, rocking him, and Harry had had his eyes closed, rather dreamily.

Well – leaning against a bosom this size...

No, enough about that. Harry was obviously still a child and could not possibly think about that at all either. So he wouldn't. But he would, maybe, eventually, if nobody else had the time, ask her. Or better yet, let Harry ask her. Simple.

Lunch they could take in their quarters – as well as breakfast – and dinner could be, from time to time, in the Great Hall. Not every day but sometimes. And detentions, well, he would think about those when the time came to hand them out. Filch would probably be happy. Or he could take Harry with him. Let him learn what it meant to cross him. Or maybe not. He would have to think about it.

The students would arrive the next day – and classes, as well as Harry's with Mrs Longbottom, the day after this.

And he should really just stop looking at the sleeping child. Had stood there, just by his bed, ready to go to bed himself, in his nightclothes, everything ready and just stared at the child while he thought about all those things. He should really stop looking at sleeping Harry. Really.

xx

It was a weird feeling. Usually, Harry took his Papa's hand when they went somewhere. This time, however, Papa had taken his hand first and held it in a firm grasp. Harry didn't mind at all because his Papa had explained that they were going to the Great Hall but this time, there wouldn't only be Minerva and the old grey-bearded man and the other woman but there would be plenty of people there, including the students – and that scared Harry. Papa had said there was no need to be afraid and had then waved his wand over Harry. It had tickled and then it had been cold and then he felt as he had before. Papa had said that this would make sure that he was fine at all time. But he didn't like seeing so many people at once and maybe, they would even look at him. He didn't like that either.

When he had gone shopping or somewhere with Aunt Petunia, she had always made sure that his hair was swept over his forehead because people stared at his scar. But now, he didn't have his scar anymore – luckily (and he would be no girl!) and he did not want to be looked at.

Maybe, Papa had felt that he was a little scared and that taken his hand because of that. At that moment, Harry really didn't care as long as he could hold on to him. He liked the clothes he was wearing, they looked like his Papa's, almost, and that felt good. His Papa would show the entire school that they belonged together – if it didn't show them they belonged together that his Papa held his hand.

Harry walked quickly next to his Papa and could feel Peeves hovering behind them. He had already played a little with him on that morning when Papa had been grumpy and had told Harry to just go and play. And they had. He loved playing with Peeves! Truly did. Peeves always let Harry chase him and sometimes, he tried to throw something at Harry and Harry had to dodge and then Peeves would give Harry those kind of stinky bombs that he used to throw and Harry was allowed to throw them at Peeves as Peeves tried to dodge away. Only, he had not given every stinky-bomb back at Peeves. One was in his room. Hidden from Papa. Maybe, if some of the students were mean to his Papa, just as Dudley had sometimes been very mean to Miss Trask, he would use it on them.

Suddenly, and he was so deep in thought that he didn't realise it immediately, Papa had pushed a door open and they stood by the table they had sat at before – but there were four other tables and they had been empty all the other times he had been in there and now they were stuffed and stuffed and stuffed with other children. All were older than him but he knew that from Papa, and most of them looked up and grimaced.

He would have to use the stinky-bomb sooner rather than later if they grimaced like that at Papa. Nobody should grimace at his Papa. Papa was a kind, lovely person and Papa had read to him again the night before and he read to him all the time and Papa had made sure he was clean after his bath and Papa took good care of him. Nobody grimaced at his Papa – and nobody stared at him.

Harry scowled at all of them and wished he had brought the stinky-bomb already. They all deserved it. Well, not all of them. There was one table and those who sat there, did not grimace at Papa. Most of them stared only at him.

And he didn't like that. He tugged on his Papa's sleeve and Papa looked at him immediately and arched his eyebrow questioningly.

"They all stare at me," Harry whispered, and somehow, wanted to run away.

"Yes, I know," Papa growled and scowled at the students as well. It worked better than when Harry had scowled and they all seemed to look at something else. "Come," Papa said and Harry climbed up on a chair – and that hovered a bit again. Peeves was in the Hall too but he was quiet and just was behind that table, did nothing. Maybe, he could make a signal and Peeves could bombard those mean, staring students with stinky things. Nobody stared at his Papa. Not without having to pay for it.

"Hello Harry," he heard and whipped his head around to look into Tima's kind face. "Why are you scowling?"

"They all glare at my Papa," he hissed. "And I don't like it."

"Students always stare," Papa replied.

"I don't like it either," Tima whispered in his ear. "And they're staring at me too. It's because you and me are new here and they stare at your Papa because they didn't expect him to have such a sweet, lovely son."

"I'm not his son," Harry whispered back. "I'm just his ward."

"If he's your Papa, you're his son," Tima whispered back and smiled. But she didn't quite smile at him. She sort of smiled over his head and Harry hummed. Maybe she was right. Maybe he was his Papa's son. Or sort of son. And Harry truly liked that thought.

xx

Minerva had put on a brave face. It wouldn't do for any of the students to see that she wasn't feeling all that well. That she missed her husband and that she found it very hard to resist just going back to him, especially with all the love letters he sent via owl, all the flowers on her pillow before she went to bed, all the apologies, everything. But he would have to learn his lesson. She had to remain tough. She had to do her job, she had first years to guide. She had things to do, she couldn't be sidetracked by her marital problems.

Oh but Albus, sitting there, he looked a little sad. His twinkle wasn't all that present and he pierced her with his gaze, he held her eyes and she wanted to just – sink in his arms and hugged him and hear his heartbeat and sniff his smell but she dragged her eyes away from him – to Harry and Severus. The boy looked as if he tried to scowl and only when Septima Vector whispered in his ear, he smiled – the woman, however, even as she ushered the first years into the hall, smiled over Harry's head – at Severus.

At Severus. Oh. Well that was certainly – interesting. Would keep an eye on them. Or maybe just, let them be. Both of them deserved some happiness and Harry was maybe their first step to being happy. Severus still scowled, yes, but he sat closer to Harry and Septima had dragged her chair closer to Harry as well.

Severus did not smile back, however, but he stared at her. Well, looked at her. And while she could see Harry's mouth moving, and the boy leaning back at Severus so his back touched Severus's chest, neither of the two said anything back. Only looked at one another.

Curious.

She smirked slightly and decided, just as she put the Sorting Hat on the first first year's head, to maybe even think about forgiving Albus.

xx

Suddenly, the boy had apparently developed a protective streak towards him. Not that Severus needed anyone to protect him but it was kind of, well, cute, to see him trying to scowl.

And on his way down back to the dungeons, the boys hand still firmly in his, he tried to forget that Septima Vector had smiled on him like a puppy (if puppies would smile) and focused on the boy. And the boys incessant chatter.

"And I think it's quite unfair that they would stare at me like that. And at you. Why are they so weird? And why are there so many? And why didn't those at that one table stare at you but looked at me like I was an alien? Didn't they think I could be there? Are there no other children from other teachers? Am I the only child here? And why did Tima smile at me? And why did you scowl at the students? What was the hat singing about? Do the other students also get a choice, like I did? Does the hat tell them more things, like it told me? And why are there four houses? And can you change your house if you don't like it? Did you see how..."

Severus groaned. The boy was just so full of questions. Again. And he would have to answer all of them, he knew. But child was tired and probably a little overwhelmed by all that was happening. And all that would happen.

And Severus himself did not honestly know what to feel, seeing that he had someone, even if it was just a tiny child who could not even truly scowl yet, on his side now.

_**xx**_


	39. Chapter 39

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

**Interlude:**

Harry found himself back in the Great Hall, surrounded by all those staring students. All of them pointed at him and laughed. His Papa was nowhere to be seen and Peeves was nowhere and Rhubarb was nowhere. He was all alone in the Hall and there were the students and Neville's granny with her ugly hat that scared him. He shivered and felt cold and wanted to scream but couldn't. His mouth was glued shut by something, stuffed with something and he could only breathe through his nose and he was cold and very much afraid. He tried to run too but those people who laughed and pointed their fingers at him had close in on him in a circle and he couldn't break out of it. He couldn't run, he couldn't hide somewhere, he couldn't even move properly. He could do nothing. Just stand there and wait. Wait until the first person began hitting him. It always happened sooner or later. Someone always hit him. Or they would pretend to let him go and then someone would trip him and then they would hit. It always happened this way without Papa. And Papa was nowhere and Peeves was nowhere and he couldn't reach into his pocket where he knew he had one of the stinky-bombs. He couldn't do anything. He could just stand and couldn't even scream and even though he wanted to curl into a small ball on the floor, he couldn't do that either.

xx

Severus heard whimpering. It wasn't particularly loud or noisy but it clearly was suffering. It sounded painful. It sounded agonised and it came – from Harry's room. Severus had not slept yet and maybe that had been a good thing. He had still read in his bed and as he had done since they had stayed at Spinner's End (and, if he thought about it, even before that), his door was open – or at least ajar – and Harry's door was open. Just in case the boy thought about wandering into the living room and wreaking havoc there. Or in case Harry needed something during the night. Or, with his bad eyes, ran against a door on the way to the bathroom and needed Severus to pick him up again.

But there was distinct whimpering and Severus was a curious person. He swung his legs out of the bed and on bare feet, he slowly made his way out of his bedroom and into Harry's room. The boy trashed his arms around while his legs were trapped by the duvet and his Puffskein purred helplessly on his chest. Severus sighed softly but nevertheless, moved quickly, very quickly to Harry's bed and sat down on the edge, grasping the boy's shoulder and shaking it gently.

"Wake up," he said, rather loudly. Harry blinked rapidly and a moment later, as was becoming his habit, he had thrown himself in Severus's arms, clinging to him and sobbing into his chest.

"I-I-I had-d-d-d a n-n-n-nightmare," he sobbed and Severus stroked his little back slowly, tiny circles first, then broadening them, little pressure on his hands and fingers. He had no idea what he was doing, he had no idea whether he was doing this right, but Harry pressed himself to him, his little arms going around Severus as much as they could and his fingers pressed against his back, almost clawing.

"Y-y-y-you we-we-weren't there," he sobbed. "And th-they we-we-were ab-about t-t-to hit me."

"Who?" he asked, his voice sounding different in his own head. Different from what it usually sounded. Even deeper, and quieter than usual.

"The stu-students," he hiccuped.

"There were students?"

"A-a-and Ne-Ne-Neville's gr-gr-granny," he whispered, wrapping his legs around Severus was well, somehow having landed in his lap.

Well – the boy was scared. Was scared of being taught by Mrs Longbottom and maybe, bringing him to the Great Hall like this hadn't been the best idea. He was afraid. He was still afraid. And that really came as no surprise. He had only been surrounded by himself and by Septima Vector and by Minerva and Albus and of course for a short span of time, by Mrs Longbottom and her grandson. He was not used to masses of students, and he wasn't used to being looked at like this. The woman hadn't been either. He had noticed. She had only picked at her food and had only eaten little. Harry hadn't eaten much either – but then again he wasn't used to greens after the meals they had in the past week and a half.

"You don't have to be afraid of her," he whispered.

"B-b-b-but you will go-go th-th-there with me?"

"I will bring you there. The first period is free."

"Wi-will you st-st-stay for a while?"

"Yes," he nodded. He would. If the boy was that afraid, he would. Harry nodded against his chest, still crying, obviously, but less so.

He still stroked the child's back, one hand straying even to his head, fingers carding in his unruly hair, his chin resting on top of Harry's head. Somehow he had come to sit on the bed with his back against the headboard, his legs stretched out and somehow, he had began to slowly rock the boy from left to right. Not backwards and forwards as Septima Vector had done but to the side. There were still sobs coming from Harry's mouth and the front of his t-shirt was soaked with his tears and snot. Would vanish it later, left such ugly stains on black things.

Severus wasn't sure where this behaviour of his came from. He certainly did not think about what he was doing at that moment. He wasn't sure whether he was copying other parents he had seen (well, he had not seen many, actually) or whether he unearthing memories he had long thought forgotten of a time when his mother had not only been the empty shell he remembered now. Maybe it was even an unknown instinct. Maybe it was sheer utter madness or maybe it was because he was so tired, he didn't know. Maybe there was something in Harry's shampoo that made him drowsy, maybe the bed really was that comfortable. Maybe it was nothing and that he suddenly found his lips on top of Harry's head and felt himself kissing for all intents and purposes the top of Harry's head was only a figment of his imagination. Maybe he should just close his eyes for a moment and smell the boy's hair closely in case there were any parts of that shampoo which made him act so uncharacteristically.

No, there was nothing. But his eyelids felt heavy and he would have to sniff a little closer and just analyse what was in that shampoo. Just resting his eyes a bit to smell better. Just resting his eyes.

xx

Harry felt so much better now that his Papa had come for him and cuddled him. He held him very tightly, even now that he half lay on his bed. Papa wouldn't let go. Papa would stay with him for a while in the morning when he had to go to Neville's granny. He would make sure he was fine. Papa even kissed his head.

Nobody had done that. Well, Tima had and Minerva had. But not Papa and nobody before then. He found he liked it and his sobs and hiccups lessened somewhat. The tears from that horrible dream subsided. Nothing like this would ever happen in his life anyhow. His Papa took care of him.

Papa loved him.

Harry smiled, yawning and looked up at his Papa before he pushed his head closer to his chest. He could even feel the snores that Papa made there. It was like a gentle vibrating.

Harry sighed before he closed his eyes – completely in peace. "I love you too, Papa," he whispered before he fell asleep lying half on his Papa.

_**xx**_


	40. Chapter 40

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

When Harry woke up the next morning, he found himself on the chest of his Papa. His arm was thrown over his chest and one of his Papa's arms was still around him. And Papa still snored a little, his mouth hanging open. But he looked differently when he slept. There were no lines on his face and he seemed to be quite content sleeping.

However, Harry was someone who learned from his mistakes. It was something he had to figure out early. If he hadn't learned from his mistakes while still living with Aunt Petunia, he would have been shut in his cupboard more often, or spanked by Uncle Vernon more often. He knew what his mistakes were mostly and he tried to avoid them.

The last mistake he had made concerning his Papa had been when he had talked too much when his Papa had not had his coffee or tea in the morning. And he would never make that mistake again. As quietly as he could, he slipped out of his Papa's arms and on tiptoes, he left his room. He would do something nice for his Papa, he decided. And his Papa should have his coffee at least (or tea?) when he came out of not his own bed. And he had, after all, watched him plenty of times before. And so, Harry climbed up on a chair so he could kneel on it and, carefully and not too loudly (he had left the door to his room open), he knocked on the table and...

Nothing happened.

Harry growled, slightly frustrated, then remembered something his Papa had said.

_Magic is not only waving a wand, Harry. Magic is always envisioning what you want to achieve. _

He had had to ask what envisioning meant but now, he understood. Closing his eyes very, very tightly, he imagined their table full of breakfast. Tea and coffee for his Papa, a huge mug of hot chocolate and a tall glass of icy cold pumpkin juice for himself, plates full of cooked breakfast and rows of toast and cowls full of cereal and porridge and only when he could see everything in front of his closed eyes, he knocked on the table. He kept his eyes closed for longer than necessary but suddenly, they flew open when a smell hit his nostrils.

Bacon! He clearly smelled back, and there was bacon. There were eggs, there were tomatoes, there were beans, there was toast, there were mugs of coffee and tea and hot chocolate, there was pumpkin juice. There was porridge and cereal. There was everything he had seen, everything he had wished for. It had all appeared! He had made it appear! Now he could wake his Papa and his Papa had tea and coffee ready and then they could talk before he had to leave.

Oh, he did not want to leave for that school thing. Neville had been nice but he had never been allowed before to really be good at school. And when Neville's granny was teaching them, he wouldn't be allowed to be good either. It was simple, wasn't it? And normal.

He would just have to do his best and hope that his Papa wasn't that angry if his grades weren't that good. Maybe he could make Papa understand. And Papa would understand that Neville's granny liked Neville better than him. It was just natural.

Harry sighed and took a sip of the wonderfully chocolatey hot chocolate, wondering whether he should wake his Papa.

xx

It would not be necessary to wake Severus. He had woken the moment something – someone – had shifted on him and then had gotten up, albeit trying to be quiet. He only realised a moment later that he had apparently fallen asleep on Harry's bed while soothing him because of his nightmare. And surprisingly, he had slept quite well. It had been astonishingly comfortable. And he had not even heard the boy snoring the way he usually did. He had not really felt the little body. He had only – slept. Without nightmares. Had woken up in time for him and the boy to take a shower before he brought him to Mrs Longbottom's flat. Plenty of time for good breakfast.

He had gotten up and stood, mesmerised, in the door, watching Harry. He tapped the table and tried to scowl again. He would have to explain to the boy how to scowl decently. This looked only like a grimace. However, the boy shut his eyes tight, probably remembering what he had told him about magic, and tapped his fingers on the table again.

And it worked. The table was laden with food. With breakfast. Generous mugs full of tea and coffee for him and an enormous mug of hot chocolate for the boy. The house elves must have accepted Harry as a full inhabitant of the castle if it worked that wonderfully.

Severus could not help the proud smirk that appeared on his face. Harry had listened to him. Harry had watched him. Harry had copied him. Harry did as he had seen him do plenty of times before.

It hit Severus hard, this realisation that Harry had found in him, apparently, a role model. Someone to copy, someone to be like.

And that was so wrong.

But better him than anyone else. He at least, knew manners. He knew how to behave and he would instil proper conduct into the boy. And he would explain to the boy that hot chocolate could not become a staple at breakfast. The boy needed proper food. The boy needed vitamins and minerals. The boy needed...healthy things to eat. No spaghetti on toast, no more fish and chips. He would buy a cookbook. A healthy cookbook and he would just have to, well, learn. Couldn't be that difficult altogether.

He watched still, when he saw Harry closing his eyes and dreamily sipping on the hot beverage. He was probably proud of himself as well to have conjured the breakfast on the table. Harry did not know about house elves. Harry did not know anything about their magic and their sensing what people needed. Harry knew basically nothing and it was his task to tell him.

Eventually.

For now, he longed for that cup of coffee and so, without ceremony, he strode to the fully laden breakfast table and sat down with a quiet 'Good morning, Harry.' And yes, the boy had learned. The boy knew not to talk too much. No. Harry only smiled at him and munched on eggs and beans.

xx

There was a hiss going through the castle. If anyone would listen closely, which nobody did, they would have heard that hiss. It wasn't loud, it wasn't particularly high or low. It was an urgent hiss though. It followed the Poltergeist. And observant person would have noticed the Poltergeist called Peeves floating through the castle, down towards the dungeons, his hands tightly clasped over something which not even a very observant person could have seen, hissing.

The Poltergeist who floated through the castle with something in his hands hissed "Rhubarb. Rhubarb."

xx

Harry knew he was seven years old. Harry knew that as a seven year old, he should not be clutching his Papa's hand in, well, a sort of frightful anticipation. Harry knew that he should be a big boy already and that he really did not have to be afraid of Neville's granny. But even as she stood there, so tall (but not as tall as his Papa) without that strange hat she had been wearing before, she looked down at him in a weird way and seemed to sort of measure him with her eyes. And Neville was nowhere to be seen. He probably hid from his granny as well.

She seemed so stern. And not at all as kind as his Papa.

And they had come through the floo – which Harry didn't like at all. He had to hold on tightly to his Papa. He had no other choice. He had felt dizzy and now Neville's granny stared at him. Until there was a whooshing sound behind them and his Papa pulled him forward a little.

"This will be Lila Lovegood and her daughter," Neville's granny said and Harry automatically pressed himself closer to his Papa's leg. More people? More students? He wasn't sure how he felt about this. Neville had been nice but what if the other person did not like him? He wanted to be liked. Really. And what if this other person – girl – told Neville that Harry was no friend to be had? Harry knew that this could happen. Dudley had always done it. He had never had a chance to have friends because of Dudley. And if that girl was like Dudley...

"Hello," a sweet, dreamy voice said behind him and he whipped around. He saw, well, a tall woman with a little girl attached to her leg and her hand much like he was attached to his Papa. "Oh, you must be Severus Snape," the woman said. She had long blonde hair that hung in waves around her face and wore that sort of thing that Tima always wore. Robes, sort of. But she was like a stick compared to Tima and her clothes were much more colourful. And the little girl (she was even littler than Harry) wore the same things only in littler and she had the same hair, only it was straight and a little shorter.

"Mummy, look, he's full of wrackspurts, " the little girl said gently.

"Oh Luna," the woman said and laughed and Harry looked up questioningly at his Papa who only scowled.

"Don't believe anything she says," he hissed down at Harry and he was very confused but did not honestly think that he had to be afraid of that girl.

xx

Peeves hovered, cross-legged in the corridor he had so often yet played with Harry. To any observer, it was just a normal scene. Well, as normal as it could be. A Poltergeist was hovering in the air and a Puffskein was scurrying over the ground. There was absolutely nothing conspicuous about that. Absolutely nothing. Apart from that something that seemed to move within the Poltergeist's closed hands.

xx

Minerva sat in her classroom, waiting for the first students to arrive. So far, the term had gone well. She had not forgiven Albus, she had still slept in the tower, no students had gone missing and only two firsties had shown signs of homesickness.

Everyone seemed to have settled in alright so far. All the teachers had been complaint free, the NEWT students more or less happy with their schedules. She hoped for a quiet term. She needed it. It had been a hectic summer with the Horcuxes and now Albus thought he had the Deathly Hallows.

Ridiculous. She just wanted to teach Transfiguration. Not more and not less.

However, her peace before the storm, before the students arrive, was disturbed a moment later when the door to her classroom burst open and a red-headed little first year entered. Percy Weasley. Third in the line of six to eight Weasley children to come (Minerva had not been surprised to hear this. Arthur and Molly had barely been able to keep their hands off each other at school already). He was crying openly. And that wasn't very Weasleyesque. They usually only grew red in their faces, well, at least Bill and Charlie were that way.

"Mr Weasley," she said, "what can I do for you so early in the morning?"

Percy Weasley panted and cried harder and wiped his nose with the back of his hand before he looked up with watery blue eyes and stuttered. "Peeves has taken my rat."

_**xx**_


	41. Chapter 41

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

Severus observed how Harry had been seated between Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood on a rather long table in front of an old-fashioned, little blackboard. It seemed not only Harry's first day – but the little blonde, weird girl's as well. Only Neville Longbottom seemed to know what he had to expect – even though Severus couldn't help but notice the relieved smile on the boy's face when he saw the other two children sitting there.

The room he and Mrs Lovegood had followed the children and Mrs Longbottom in was smaller than he had thought. It was almost a shoebox, more like a cupboard then a room but despite the smallness and the fact that there was only one, tiny window, it was bright and warm. Might have something to do with the fact that the walls were painted a bright yellow (and it made his eyes hurt. He would have to ask Harry if his eyes hurt as well) – or maybe he had not given Mrs Longbottom enough credit and she was a rather good witch and had cast lightening charms which were so well done he could not make them out.

Either way – and despite the yellow walls – he had absolutely no doubt that Harry would learn in this environment. Somehow, he did not doubt that this stern looking woman would teach his ward, would make sure he learned and would make sure that he was treated fairly, if not better than her own grandson without being fawned over.

Mrs Longbottom was a level-headed person who had had seen a lot in her days, had all but buried her son and her daughter in law. And was caring for her grandson by herself (and, according to Minerva, with the help of her brother). Harry would be fine.

Severus, on the other hand, wasn't so sure about himself. Mrs Lovegood had taken him by his sleeve and had basically dragged him just out of the room, and while they both stood still looking inside (he would not leave without telling Harry he did, the boy might had nightmares or something if he was left all alone. He had been scared before after all), the woman was talking his ears off – and he had to tell Harry all of this.

"When Luna was little, she was afraid of almost anything, so Xeno made up all sorts of creatures. The wrackspurts she mentioned earlier, Xeno made up. There are a couple more but she needs them. She's insecure and hasn't had any contact with plenty of people. And she and my husband have begun their secret club of actually discovering new creatures that do not actually exist. I think by now, Xenophilus is really drawn into it and I'm not sure whether he really does not believe in the creatures he created in many bedtime stories. But please tell Harry that she means absolutely no harm when she doesn't see wrackspurts around him, or too many, or she suddenly begins to talk about the Crumpled Horn Snorkack, or whatever my husband has dubbed that mystical creature that does I don't know what. It has a horn, I think," she laughed. "I can hardly keep track of everything he makes up."

Severus had suspected as much. There was no such thing as wrackspurts. And he had a Care of Magical Creatures NEWT (simply because it, well, helped, with gathering various potions ingredients) and he was sure he would have heard of it.

And maybe it was a good way of making sure that a child wasn't afraid. Not exactly lying but inventing him. Muggles did that, didn't they? At least some – who told their children that there were guardian angels – despite the fact that nobody could prove those existed. Or a sort of divine entity. People did believe in them. Despite the fact that nobody could prove the existence. If a child was less scared by being told there were whatever-kind-of-things looking over them, then he could understand that. He was only relieved that he did not have to make up stories for Harry. He simply wouldn't have been able to – limited imagination.

The woman still talked softly but he kept his eyes on Harry who suddenly looked up and smiled at him. Severus nodded, hoped the boy would understand that this was his good bye and when the boy nodded back, a little hesitantly, he nodded again and turned, ignoring Mrs Lovegood.

xx

Peeves smirked and sat the rat on the ground just in front of the Puffskein. He could see that the rat wanted to move but couldn't. And so, the Puffskein flicked his tongue over the rat and suddenly grew a little, opened his mouth very, very wide and the rat was gone. It had suddenly disappeared inside the Puffskein and the animal seemed to smile, then shrunk back to normal size again, lazing on the floor. It was a truth that could be found in few books since Puffskeins were considered cute, furry animals and did not seem to harm anyone.

However, they can swallow things three times their size if their owner is in danger from another thing or if they consider their owners in danger. Some books even quote that the Puffskein of the daughter of the famous witch and Banshee Cliodna had eaten an entire Irish Setter when it had been about to bite the girl.

Puffskeins produce a special serum in their stomach which happens to decompose the swallowed animals within seconds and thereby kills it, feeding the Puffskein for up to one year, depending on size.

Peeves had not known this – but he could communicate with magical animals and the Puffskein had explained that there was something rather fishy about the rat. And fishy in Puffskein terms meant danger. A lot of danger. Since the Puffskein could not leave the dungeons on his own, it had been Peeves job to find it and bring it. And Peeves had sensed that the rat was not – what it seemed.

xx

Minerva was torn between comforting the tiny, red-headed first year and knowing that she would have a class rather soon. The first few students had arrived by then, however, and she had told the little Weasley she would get the rat back for him.

So, during her free period, she had searched the castle and unfortunately, had not met Peeves – until she actually got to the dungeons. It really shouldn't have come as a surprise to her that Peeves hovered there, in front of Snape's quarters. Peeves had really had a bond with the boy. Which in turn meant that so far, the term had been quiet concerning Peeves's little practical jokes. It had never happened before. However, at the same time, Harry turned everyone's life upside down. Severus's, hers, Septima Vector's and now Peeves's which affected the entire school.

He hovered there, watched the Puffskein which sort of lay on the flagstones and smirked happily. No sign of a rat. No sign of a familiar of any student.

"Peeves, have you seen a rat? Percy Weasley claims you took it," she said, her eyebrows arched, hoping her connection to Harry would somehow help with getting a straight answer out of the Poltergeist.

The Poltergeist though did not seem to want to cooperate. He merely pointed at the Puffskein.

"Peeves, not helpful. I have a first year in my tower, crying over his familiar," she said sternly.

"Peevesy and littley Rhubarb only did what was right," he smirked, bobbing up and down in the air.

"What did you do?" she asked sharply.

"Peevesy did nothing."

"So you did not take the rat?"

Peeves cackled. "That he might have done."

"Where is the rat?" she asked again – and once more, Peeves pointed at the Puffskein and it dawned on Minerva.

"He did not!" she cried. Puffskeins truly only ate, or devoured, those they considered a risk. How could a rat be a risk to Harry? It just made no sense.

"This is an occasion you will not often be facing. Goddess of Wisdom should know things are not always..." the Poltergeist suddenly stopped and it looked, almost, as if he had thought of something. He even, in his transparency, seemed to pale. "There once was a group at this school, who made many students a fool. There was one in particular who inspired a little extracurricular," he seemed to breathe (though she knew for a fact that Peeves did not breathe. He was a Poltergeist) and licked his lips – almost – nervously. "And while nobody knew, they were always on cue. It was arranged and so they all changed. And the boot-licking brat was a rat." He zoomed around the corridor but came back, hovering before her. Just before her face.

"What?"

"The boot-licking brat was a rat," he repeated.

She shook her head. "What are you talking about?"

"When the wolf was howling, they all went prowling. The boot-licking brat was a rat. The stag was a brag, the mutt was a nut. The same rat is now splat. Rhubarb, isn't it him and you didn't eat him on a whim."

The Puffskein purred and even though Minerva, who clearly did not understand Puffskeinian, thought it sounded as if he had agreed.

"Why was he alive? Didn't the other survive?"

"Peeves, what are you talking about?" Minerva asked, completely confused and a little unnerved.

He hovered closer and his transparent nose was almost touching Minerva's.

"Oh Goddess of Wisdom, go up to your hubby," he only said before he seemed to pat the Puffskein on the round head and flew away, albeit a bit wobbly, she thought. And she had no idea what he had just talked about.

Absolutely none. But maybe, she thought, this was the occasion to talk to her husband. It was time in any case.

xx

"Papa!" Harry shouted and ran straight into his legs as soon as he had stepped off the fireplace to pick him up. He had missed his Papa. Yes, it was rather fun to learn with Neville and Luna (who was a bit dotty and always talked about things Harry didn't know and it had made him feel bad first because, well, he had not lived amongst wizards but when Neville pulled the same not-knowing-face, he had been a little relieved. Apparently Neville didn't know what Luna was talking about either) and Neville's granny was only truly strict with poor Nev. Nev had to answer every question correctly or his granny (whom he had to call Mrs Longbottom) would glare at him. It was really, really unfair. And sometimes, Mrs Longbottom would mutter something like 'You're not like your father at all.'. Harry had to ask his Papa about that. It was so unfair. Papa had to do something about that. He would have to tell Nev's granny that she was unfair to Nev. Or he would have to tell her. If he was brave enough.

But the lessons had been okay, really. Mrs Longbottom had them read and then had them do maths and a little writing and then had taught them about herbs and about a magical owls. Now, Harry knew that owls delivered post here. They did not use the postman, they used owls. He had had the feeling that both Nev and Luna knew about it.

He would have to tell Papa all about it. But first, he wanted to enjoy that his Papa's large hand had landed on his shoulder and seemed to squeeze a little. He leaned against his leg and sighed. But then, he was turned around and before Harry could say good bye to his friends, he felt himself on his Papa's hand travelling through the floo again. That wasn't right. He stomped his foot on the ground and glared at his Papa.

"I wanted to say good bye," he said, frowning.

Papa arched his eyebrows and looked down at him. "What?"

"I wanted to say good bye to Nev and Luna. They're my friends."

Papa said nothing.

"Why did we leave like that?" he asked, angrily.

"Because I did not want to talk to Mrs Longbottom again," Papa said evenly.

"But why?" he stomped his foot again. "I wanted to say good bye."

"You will see them again tomorrow."

"But I didn't say good bye. They will think I'm rude and I wanted to say good bye and until tomorrow."

Papa almost seemed as if he didn't know how to answer that but Harry didn't care. He pouted. And with a reason. He wanted to say good bye and his Papa hadn't let him. And Papa didn't even answer. Harry shook his head angrily and stormed off, right into his room. He would not leave without saying good bye the next day, that much he knew.

His room was as beautiful as ever but Rhubarb lazed on his bed and wasn't scurrying around the way he usually did when Harry came back home.

"Rhubarb?" he called softly as he sat on the bed. His pet lazily moved into his arms and Harry hugged him. He seemed a bit fatter than usually but his purring when he stroked his tummy (or where he thought his tummy would be) became louder. "Papa should have let me say good bye," he muttered against his familiar and frowned.

xx

"Interesting," Albus said as she relayed what Peeves had told her. "Phineas," he called, "get me Kreacher."

"Kreacher?" Minerva asked. "What's this about?"

"I have talked aloud in here about the Horcruxes. I needed to say it out loud," he explained, "and since you and Severus are the only people who know and since Severus is rather busy with me and you...well, which I can understand, I talked to the Headmasters. And Phineas Black come up with – an old house elf."

"An house elf? What? Why?"

"He said the most extraordinary thing. The elf, I mean. And after a bit of talking, he did bring me the locket."

"You have the locked and you didn't tell me?" she seethed.

"I wrote you a note. It was in the roses I send last night," he explained.

"Oh," she whispered. Thinking it had only been another one of those I'm sorry, please forgive me notes. "I, erm, didn't have time to read it yet."

"Well, the locket is destroyed and Kreacher, well, he said for a fact that Sirius was no Death Eater. He said nobody in his family was following the wanna-be half-blood. That's a direct quote, by the way..."

"But Regulus..."

"Regulus had the locket, remember? He figured him out before us. Kreacher had the locket in safe-keeping."

"And it's destroyed?"

"It is destroyed," he nodded.

"And you called him here, why exactly?" she asked, thinking he would have to explain this further. That night. When she spent the night in the same bed again.

"Well the evidence that..."

"Half-blood Dumbledore called for Kreacher?" a house elf popped up in the office. An ugly house elf.

"Yes, Kreacher. I wonder if you know if maybe Sirius was an...Animagus?"

"Yes, filthy dog," the house elf spat. "Filthy, filthy dog!"

"Oh," Minerva replied, pieces falling into place. Slowly.

"Thank you, Kreacher," her husband said. "That's all I wanted to know."

The house elf blinked away and Minerva put her hands, impulsively, on Albus's shoulders. "What now?"

"I think now I will ask Severus to give me a spot of his Veritaserum that I know he keeps down there and I think...I will have to visit Azkaban."

_**xx**_


	42. Chapter 42

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

Severus truly did not pay attention to what Albus waffled on about. He was too busy staring at the document that had just arrived via official Ministry-owl. He just unwarded and unlocked his private stores and told Albus, muttering, where to find Veritaserum. He didn't care what the old man needed it for. He could only stare at the document.

He had absolutely no idea why this had happened so fast – and why no boring looking, law-abiding official had descended upon him and dragged him off to Azkaban. No. There it was, royal blue on parchment-colour. He had now, officially, an heir. A son that went by the name of Harry James Snape. The last night had just been adjusted, without him asking for it.

And while he had been dumbstruck at first by the velocity of it – and by the utter unbureaucraticness. He must have somehow slipped through the net – that was the only explanation that the Ministry did not took more interest in it. He couldn't understand it and he knew that Albus couldn't have had his hand in this. He didn't know and Minerva didn't know. He had just filled in the necessary forms, Petunia Evans's signature and had sent it all away, hoping it would be cleared before the boy turned 17.

And then, two days later, he had the document. He had a son. And naturally, he had wanted to share that news. Not that he had been overjoyed, merely baffled by the quickness. He had not even been happy. He was stuck now, for the rest of his life, with a son. He had never wanted a son. He had never wanted children in any case.

And yet, when Harry had thrown himself at him as he had picked him up from Mrs Longbottom's, there had been a moment when he had thought that it probably would not be that bad alltogether to have a child. But of course the moment had lasted barely a second when the boy had begun to scream and shout and complain about saying good bye to his friends. So yes, he had wanted to get home and had wanted to tell the boy that he was now not Harry Potter anymore (though if he had had a say in that, he would still be Harry Potter, not Harry Snape – who decided that anyway?). He had, foolishly, thought that the boy would like that kind of security, knowing he would not be sent back to his horrid relatives but obviously he had been wrong.

And obviously, what he had expected to happen had happened sooner, rather than later.

The boy obviously wanted to be with other people and not with him. The boy preferred saying good bye to his friends to hearing that he had been adopted. That he had, when all was said and done, now a father.

Severus had left the room after the boy's tantrum and had gone into his bedroom where he had kept the document. He had wanted to tell the boy in small, understandable words and not that Ministry-gibberish. But like this? No. So he grabbed the parchment, stormed out of his room and into the boy's and without saying a word, without even looking at him, he threw it on the boy's bed.

"Here. There's nothing you can do about it," he said, his voice as calm as he could keep it and without waiting for a reaction, he left the boy's room again.

xx

"Here," Minerva said as she shoved another piece of chocolate into the man sitting there. Well, man. Or dirty, soiled, barely recognisable human being. He was still in that horrible, striped Azkaban uniform and she did not honestly recognise the once handsome, young man. He was still somewhere in there but the Veritaserum-induced speech he had given and the Legilimency Albus had used had worn him out completely and now sat a man before her that could do barely more than chew and gulp down piece after piece of chocolate. His hands were shaking and his head was shaking a little too.

Minerva focused hard on the task at hand. If she had not, she would have contemplated why Albus had not gone there sooner, why she had not gone there sooner, why they had accepted what had happened and had never once doubted it. She would have blamed herself and that was, in this situation when she had to feed Sirius Black chocolate, not helpful.

Sirius Black was free. And after Albus had given her a detailed recollection of what he had heard, he had gone back to the Ministry and was now trying to free him officially. The guards at Azkaban had been most forthcoming when they had seen her husband. He had that sort of pull, she knew. If only he had used it sooner. He wanted to know the truth all the time – and then he had not. Then he had just accepted everything, just as she had done. And she had known those four probably better than anyone else in this school. She should have...

No, no sense in going there.

Sirius Black blinked at her and she could see a flicker of life returning in his dull eyes. "What happened?" he croaked and it wasn't the voice she remembered.

"You're free, Mr Black. You're at Hogwarts," she said sternly. "Now eat that chocolate. All of it. We can't get you to Madam Pomfrey like this."

"Madam Pomfrey? Why? Where is Pettigrew? That traitor, I'll kill..."

"Because you just spent six years in Azkaban. I think that warrants a little visit with the mediwitch."

The flicker of life, then, was gone again and the man slumped over in the chair – obviously having fallen asleep. Minerva sighed. She would get Poppy and Poppy could deal with him professionally.

Maybe, they had been too late. Too late.

She shook her head to herself. She knew that she had to feel guilty, she knew she had to blame herself. She knew Albus had to blame himself. They had all.

Sirius Black had not been guilty of betraying the Potters. Sirius Black had not killed Peter Pettigrew (no, a Puffskein had done that).

There was a little bell going off in the other room, their living room, to alert her that someone was calling in on the floo and after checking that Sirius Black was indeed fast asleep, she levitated him to a cot and put him down, pulling a blanket up to his nose before she hurried into the other room.

She truly wanted to smile upon seeing Harry's face in the fireplace. She wanted to and the boy deserved a smile but it dawned on her. It dawned on her that they had brought Harry's godfather out of prison. And Severus and Sirius were like – no, not like...Severus and Sirius had been enemies through their entire time at Hogwarts. If Sirius returned – and would get half-way well again – and if Sirius knew that Harry was there – with Severus – oh Merlin. No. The boy would stay, she decided in that moment, with Severus. It would break Severus's heart. More than anything. And the boy loved Severus. Severus was a responsible, grown up man who had done what had been best for Harry. Sirius would never be that responsible. And he was probably not even capable of handling a small child like Harry after being in Azkaban.

"Minerva, Papa gave me something to read but I don't understand what it means and he's in his lab and said that I shouldn't disturb him. I think he is mad at me because I yelled at him because I wanted to say good bye to my friends and he just pulled me away."

Minerva took a deep breath. "Slowly Harry, what did Severus give you?"

"My Papa gave me a sort of rolled up parchment and I can read most of it but I don't understand what it says. Something about someone called Harry Snape."

"Harry Sna...step away from the floo, Harry, I'm coming through," she said rushedly. Oh Severus hadn't. Had he? Adopted? So quickly? She almost stumbled through the floo into the Snapes (the Snapes?) living room and after briefly kissing Harry – and picking him up and letting him wrap his arms around her neck – she took the parchment from him and scanned it. Then read it through thoroughly.

Severus had gone and had adopted Harry. Just like that. The boy she held in her arms was officially Harry Snape. And Severus had just gone and had shoved this into the boy's hands without explanation?

"He didn't tell you what this meant?" she asked carefully and watched how the boy shook his head sadly.

xx

At least Minerva will liked him. At least Minerva still picked him up and talked to him. That was something. He didn't understand his Papa. Even though – maybe he had been mad because he thought that he wanted to spend more time with his new friends than with Papa. But that wasn't true at all. He wanted to spend the rest of the day with Papa but he had wanted to say good bye. It was the proper thing to do, Aunt Petunia had always said. And then be with Papa.

He had only given this to Harry had not said a word. And that was something Papa had never done before. Papa always explained and Papa always listened patiently.

"He only gave it to me," he said sadly.

"I think," Minerva laughed and kissed his cheek, "he is a bit confused."

"Why?"

"Because...Harry, do you know what adoption means?"

He nodded eagerly. "It means that there is someone who wants you to be their kid. And who love you as if you were their own kid. Aunt Petunia said she would never ever adopt me. And that nobody would ever adopt me because I was a freak."

"Well, it seems Aunt Petunia was wrong, Harry," she whispered, her lips very close to his ear and her nose pressed against his temple. "Because your Papa has just adopted you. That's what this paper said."

Harry shook his head. "Papa hasn't adopted me..."

"He has," Minerva interrupted. "Look here it is: From the date issued below on this paper, Harry James Potter is formally known to be Harry James Snape, the heir and son of Severus Tobias Snape. Severus Tobias Snape is..."

"My Papa," Harry stared incredulously. "But why..."

"I think because he loves you a lot. But you know that your Papa is not very good at showing that, right?"

Harry nodded slightly. "He is. Sometimes. But not all the time. He never says it but I know he does love me. But only sometimes does he show it."

"I think...well, the matter is clear," she laughed.

"What is clear?" Harry was more confused than ever. He was really Papa's son now? Like for real? Like forever? Like...Papa's son? Harry Snape? He liked that name. Harry Snape. "Does this mean," he asked quietly before Minerva could answer his other question, "that I belong to my Papa now? Really?"

"Yes, you belong to your Papa," she laughed still and pressed another kiss on his cheek. "You belong to your Papa and as a son, you now have the duty of teaching your Papa how to show more that he loves you. Do you think you can do that?"

"I belong to my Papa. Forever?"

"Forever."

"Really?"

"Really."

"And I should teach him how to show me he loves me? But how?"

"I'm sure you'll find a way," she answered in his ear. "I think a lot of cuddles will help."

"I can do cuddles," he answered proudly. "I like them. And I think Papa likes them too. But he never says it." He paused and pressed his forehead against Minerva's neck. "I belong to my Papa now forever. I'm Harry Snape. My name is Harry Snape. Harry Snape. Like my Papa. My Papa Severus Snape and me Harry Snape."

She laughed still. "And you know what? I think...no, let me try something," she said and put him down gently on the couch. "Be quiet now, alright?" she asked with some sort of happiness shining in her eyes.

Harry nodded and made a zipping gesture over his lips.

"Severus!" Minerva shouted suddenly, and so loudly that Harry almost squealed. "Severus! Harry! What..." She shouted again.

A moment later, his Papa came running into the living room and his face was not the usual face. There was a deep, deep, deep, deep line between his eyebrows. Deeper than usual and his eyes were sort of clouded with something even though he did look around wildly before Harry felt that his eyes fell on him.

"Minerva, what's going on? Harry?" Papa ran towards him and knelt on the ground. "Harry, what happened?"

Harry did not understand. Harry was confused. But Harry knew he had to thank his Papa. Harry knew Papa had come running for him. And Harry knew an opportunity when he saw one. Not letting his Papa slip away again, he used the opportunity when his Papa put his face closer to his and flung, immediately, his arms around him. His Papa wanted him! His Papa really truly wanted him. Wanted him there. Didn't want to send him away. Just wanted him.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," Harry whispered, clinging to the man, pressing a kiss on his Papa's cheek. And then another one. And another one.

"What? Minerva, are you out of your mind shouting like that? I thought he was..."

Harry could see Minerva smirking like a cat but she said nothing. Nothing except. "Congratulations, you two," and stepped towards the fireplace again. "Oh, and Severus, there is some matter I'd like to discuss with you."

"I should say so," Papa muttered. "Bedtime is at..."

"Eight, I know," she smirked. "Well, I'll leave you Snapes to it." Papa watched her just as Harry watched her leave through the floo and then Papa turned his head towards Harry.

"I love you, Papa. Thank you for adopting me and thank you for wanting me and thank you for not wanting to send me away and I love you Papa," Harry explained rapidly.

Papa said nothing but Papa picked him up from the couch and hugged him really really hard.

_**xx**_


	43. Chapter 43

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**xx**_

For precautionary purposes, Minerva had cast, silently and unbeknownst to Severus, several muting and safety spells around the living room she now sat in, her legs crossed, her arms crossed and her wand at the ready. She knew hers was the hard task and she had known ever since the moment she had pulled the shorter feather. She did not doubt that Albus dreaded telling Sirius Black about the fact that Harry lived in the castle – with Severus Snape – but then again, she had failed to mention to her husband that Harry Potter wasn't Harry Potter anymore. Besides, Sirius Black was still weak while Severus, who was about to hear that one of the two people who had made his life a living hell during their time at school, had been freed from prison and was now residing in the Hospital Wing.

She expected a tantrum, she expected hexes and she expected him to completely crumble when she left.

She had gotten to know this man when he had returned to teach. She knew there was more depth to him than to most people and she knew that he'd rather be stoned than being caught showing any kind of positive emotion. She had seen him angry, she had seen him almost bursting from it when yet another student had not listened to him and had, in an attempt to upstage their fellow students, done the exact opposite of what he had said. She knew the phenomenon, happened mostly from fourth year onwards, boys trying to impress the girls and girls trying her best to impress the boys without being too obvious altogether. She had seen him angry and annoyed and once, she had witnessed him shouting at two sixth year Ravenclaws who had almost managed to kill their entire class. But laughing? She couldn't remember him laughing at all. An occasional smirk or smile or glee that sparkled in his eyes when something had gone right or lately, when he was with Harry. But it was gone before she could decently look at it. Maybe, she suspected, he did not allow himself to feel the good things in life because – well – he had so far only experienced that they went away too quickly and never stuck. He was, she knew, protecting himself and now with Harry, he seemed to allow himself to, well, maybe dream a little of a little person who loved him unconditionally (which Harry did) but she still had the feeling he did not trust it to last. And with Black in the picture, well, he would be shattered. He would begin to think that Black would take the boy away (which he would probably try) and that was why it was good that she had pulled the shorter feather out of the Sorting Hat. Because she would tell Severus that Black would not get Harry. Not as long as she was alive. Who would want to give a child to a man whose first decent, clear question had been about the man he wanted to kill? The man that had betrayed him? And then only to threaten to kill him. No, that wasn't right.

Besides, she pondered as she thought back to that fateful night in Godric's Hollow, Hagrid had found Harry in the rubble of the falling down house. Sirius had been nowhere near, Remus Lupin for that matter, had been nowhere near. It had been Hagrid on Albus's orders. And any decent godfather, someone who took the responsibility seriously would have plotted a revenge (the way she knew now – of course then it hadn't seemed suspicious that Black had stayed away) _after_ the boy had been in good hands. Seriously, Harry could have been killed from the weight of the house on him alone. But oh no, it had been more important for Black to get his revenge. And that was, despite all her Gryffindorness, something Minerva could not possibly understand. Harry should have been his top priority and he wasn't. The same was equally valid for Remus Lupin. Oh that day had changed her mind about those friends. Aber her formerly treasured Gryffindors and she had begun to see Severus as a kind of victim. Well, no. Not a kind of victim but a victim of those four friends. And she still waited (and knew she would wait in vain) for an absolution only Severus Snape could give on the way she had handled all those incidents all those years ago. And he was right in not forgiving her.

However, this time she was on his side. She did not want him to be afraid of losing the child and the adoption had been just at the right time. Just the perfect thing to happen. With that Ministry scroll and her on his side and probably Albus on his side (oh she would make sure, he was on Severus's side. Or else), Black stood no chance. She knew it was harsh but who would want a child like Harry grow up with someone like Black? The man barely remembered how to tie shoelaces.

And yes, he would have to stay at Hogwarts, in Poppy's care for a while. Albus had sent out notes to every single teacher apart from Severus (that would have been just too cruel), informing them that Sirius Black was an innocent man and would stay there. It would be all over the Prophet in the morning anyhow.

Still, she played nervously with the glass of gilly water Severus had provided her with (he was probably getting restless about her sitting there with legs and arms crossed) and could not quite meet his eye yet.

"There has been a development," she began hesitantly.

"Yes?" he drawled sarcastically and she wished deep down in her heart that he could stay that way – even if he was mocking her. She did not want him to be afraid.

"And even though it's big news, I can assure you that nothing, absolutely nothing will change," she said, trying to - she wasn't sure what she was trying to do. Maybe reassure him right from the start that he would keep Harry.

"That is very interesting, Minerva," he quipped. "And what is that development?"

She took a deep breath and gulped down the gilly water. "It has come to our attention that things that seemed simple, actually are not. And things are not always what they seem at first glance."

"What nice platitudes, Deputy Headmistress. Do you have anything of any importance to say or are you just here to swap those nice platitudes? If so, I have one for you: Appearances are deceptive."

She chuckled nervously. "They are. Most of the time. And this time, they were. Severus, there is no easy way to tell you this."

"What?" he snapped.

"Sirius Black did not betray the Potters," she mumbled.

"Excuse me?"

"Sirius Black did not betray the Potters."

"I've had a tiring day and I do not appreciate jokes," he replied angrily.

She shook her head sadly. "It is not a joke. It was Peeves who found it out and Albus...no, it was Peter Pettigrew. The Potters changed their Secret Keeper at the last moment and neither I nor Albus nor anyone else but those involved knew about it."

He stared, mouth agape.

"It was Peter Pettigrew who's done it. Sirius Black was innocent," the moment the last word was out of her mouth, she knew it had been wrong of her to say it, so she quickly conceded. "What I mean to say is that he is innocent of betraying Lily and James. It wasn't him. It was all a plot by Pettigrew. He cut his own toe off and made it look like Sirius had killed him."

Severus had paled. Severus had clutched his chest with his large hand. Severus had managed to close his mouth but only barely. And out of it came with a deadly tone, a few words that made her shiver. "Where is he?"

She shook her head. "He's dead. You know how Puffskeins are protective of their owners..."

"I don't bloody need a lecture on magical creatures!" he exploded, towering over her and all she could do was put her hand on his and held it.

"There is no lecture. Rhubarb is protective of Harry and he noticed that something was wrong with a rat one of the first years brought here this term. Peeves found the rat and Rhubarb – ate it."

Severus eyes widened and Minerva felt that he, somehow, and probably subconsciously, squeezed her hand tightly. She just continued, ignoring it, ignoring the tall man standing in front of her with his eyes boring into hers and hand clutching hers. "It was Peeves who remembered that there had been three students who had been Animagi. And that the rat looked like one of those Animagi..."

"Pettigrew," Severus said voicelessly. "Pettigrew did it? But who would be so stupid as to let someone like him guard their lives? He was always laughing and cheering when they...and he was always fawning over them..."

"It was Potter's and Black's idea. Just because everyone would have believed they would have made Black Secret Keeper."

Severus stood and shook his head. "The Puffskein ate the rat? Pettigrew lived in his Animagus form all these years?"

"We believe so, yes."

"Whose rat?"

"Percy Weasley," she replied.

"Weasley?" he shook his head again. "He wasn't quite as stupid as we all thought he was then..." he added.

"Well, be that as it may," she said, knowing she would have to get to the hard part and she held his hand very, very tightly. Incidentally, it was also his wand-hand and she did not truly want to lose a limb. "There is more."

"More?"

"Yes. As I said, Sirius Black is innocent. And Albus convinced the Wizengamot and the Ministry of the fact..."

"He used my Veritaserum to prove the bloody idiot is innocent?" he thundered and all Minerva could do was nod and hold his hand. Just hold it. She focused on it, calloused and rough that it was.

"And he's here," she added in a whisper.

"Here?" he shouted now. "What do you mean here?"

"Up in the Hospital Wing," she whispered and pulled the hand to her chest, as soon as she noticed him struggling to free it. She held it with both her hands against her chest and slowly got up. "He is weak and we couldn't have him in St Mungo's. We have to..."

"What?" he shouted. "Help him?"

Minerva shrugged her shoulders. "It would have been wrong to send him there where we cannot keep an eye on him. We do not yet know what those six years in Azkaban did to his head and how he will react to this world now."

Suddenly, Severus's eyes widened and he stared at Minerva in shock. He did not have to say anything, she understood.

"He will not get Harry. Even if he tries, he won't, Severus. You're Harry's father now. He's a Snape, officially. There is nothing he can do, even if he wants to..."

xx

Severus felt all the blood rushing from his body. He had no idea where it went – when he looked at the ground, there was no large pool of red liquid, it was just the flagstones and his shoes. Nothing else and he wasn't sure where all the blood had gone. He couldn't think straight and his hands and feet were icy cold – his entire body was cold. It wasn't so much the fact that Black had not betrayed Lily. If he was honest with himself, he didn't care who of the four imbeciles had done it (even though it was a relief that the traitor was actually dead) but more the fact that Severus knew, despite everything Minerva could possibly say, that he would lose the boy. He could lose Harry to Sirius Black.

No. He would fight tooth, nail, wand, anything. That bloody idiot would not get Harry. He would not get his son. There was nothing he could do. He could have kept out of Azkaban and could have taken the baby right away. That would have saved Harry from Petunia Evans, her dreadful husband and her horrible son. If he had respected the responsibility he had been given by Lily and Potter. But no, the way he gathered, it had been more important to go after Pettigrew instead of taking care of his godchild. No. Black would never ever get the child.

"Severus?" Minerva still clasped his hand to her chest and held it tight. It was maybe better that she had done it. If not, he would have hexed his living room into splinters. But she had made it abundantly clear – which had caused the blood to leave his body in the first place – that she was on his side. Against Black. He would have never believed it if she hadn't said it so – clearly. He could fathom it however. Maybe he would once the blood returned from wherever it was hiding though he doubted it.

"Yes?" he asked and it came out all – creaky.

"He probably won't even try to get Harry. He's still very weak from Azkaban and I'm not sure how much we should tell the boy about it. About him, I mean."

Severus didn't know how to answer that. Would he have to tell Harry that he had a godfather at all? A godfather that was free and had spent time in Azkaban because he had allegedly betrayed his parents? Would he have to explain? He did not want to. If he could just...no, he would have to tell him something. Oh but he would have to think about it. Would have to give it a lot of thought.

"I agree," he said then. "And I could not care less if he's weak..."

"Of course if he had been a little less impulsive and had actually taken his responsibility as a godfather more seriously and had not gone for revenge immediately, all of this could have been avoided. Though I doubt Harry would be quite as lovely as he is now," she said softly. "Don't underestimate his feelings for you, Severus."

He didn't know how to answer that either. He just didn't. But his hand squeezed Minerva's a little and somehow, he was glad that the woman had come down to tell him all that.

xx

Harry woke up wonderfully refreshed. He had slept wonderfully. He hadn't dreamed anything and Rhubarb had even been softer on his chest than usually, even though he was a bit heavier. But he liked that and he loved Rhubarb and cuddled him when he woke up. He knew his Papa would have come to wake him soon anyway because he already heard him bustling around in the living room, hopefully already drinking his coffee or tea. Whatever it was today.

Scratching his head after he had put Rhubarb on the floor, he left his bedroom and walked into the living room where his Papa sat, indeed drinking. Coffee. So he wasn't as awake as Harry was, he realised and he walked very, very carefully. But when Papa looked up and almost smiled, Harry fastened his steps and ran into his Papa and pressed himself close, his chin on his Papa's thigh.

He smiled up happily and greeted him and Papa, which was odd, put his hand on Harry's head and ruffled his hair.

"Good morning, Harry," he said in a very kind voice. "I trust you slept well?"

Harry nodded, his chin pressing tighter against Papa's thigh. "And you?"

Papa looked at him for a moment, then brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. "No," he said.

"Why not?"

"I don't know," Papa said tiredly and ruffled a bit more in Harry's hair. He loved that feeling. It was nice and kind and showed him – for once – that Papa loved him. And Papa did love him.

Harry looked up suddenly when there was a loud, loud, loud bang on the door and Papa looked up as well, taking his hand from Harry's head (which he missed immediately) and softly mumbling something Harry didn't understand, he pulled his wand from his sleeve and opened the door.

There was a strange man. A man Harry had never seen before but Papa seemed to know him. And Papa didn't seem to like him. Papa almost never shouted. But now he did.

"Get the hell away from here!" was what he shouted.

"I have ever right to see my godson, Snivellus!" the other man shouted back, "Get out of my bloody way you greasy, death eating scum!"

Oh, Harry knew that scum was a bad word. And bloody too. Papa would talk to him very sternly if he used either one of them.

"Get, Black," Papa said and his voice wasn't shouty anymore. No, it was calm. Very, very calm.

Harry wasn't sure what to think of that but he was curious and he slowly inched his way forward but stopped when Papa was pushed aside roughly and there was this man, suddenly, in front of him. "Harry!" the man shouted but it wasn't really a nice kind of shout and why did that man know who he was?

Instead of inching forward, he inched sideways to his Papa. He looked up at him and his face was angry. Very, very angry. "Papa?" he asked very softly and very tentatively and then noticed that it was probably the wrong thing to say. Suddenly, there were two wands raised between the two wizards and Papa pushed Harry behind himself.

"Get out, Black!" Papa shouted.

"Fuck off, Snivellus," the other man said with a sneer. "You have no right to have Harry. I'm Harry's godfather, he belongs to me."

"Stay away from my son," Papa said sternly and Harry peeked from around his thighs to have a closer look at the man. Papa would protect him anyway.

"You greasy, slimy Death Eater. You're not worth to have even a look at Harry," the other man said. "You will infect him with your dark thinking. That's what you were after all these years."

Harry wanted to tell this man not to talk to his Papa like that and he ran forward from behind his Papa and stood between Papa and this man and saw, a little too late how there were a few sparks of colour over his head – and then, everything went black and everything began to hurt.

_**xx**_


	44. Chapter 44

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

One would think that by now, Severus was used to all the blood leaving his body and pooling somewhere he couldn't see. Only this time, he knew what to do. Somehow, his body knew exactly what to do – despite the lack of blood. He didn't care where Black got the wand from or how he had come down there. The only thing he was interested in was what he had hit his Harry with. Had begun firing hex after hex and apparently, as Severus only had to shield himself from one or two, his aim was a little off. And then he had hit Harry.

That had been the moment when his blood had left his body again. The moment when Harry's head had lolled somewhat lifelessly in his neck and he had crumbled, with a feral shriek of pain, on the ground.

He didn't spare the man a single glance and even though he felt anger as huge as Hogwarts itself burning in himself, he could not act on it, not now. Yes, he heard the man muttering and whimpering but a quick Incarcerous and a tiny gagging spell later, he dropped to his knees.

The boy looked so little and so fragile and so...he blinked slowly up at him, his green eyes clouded with pain.

"It hurts, Papa," he whimpered pitifully. "It stings."

"It's okay," Severus heard himself whisper and he pulled the boy into his arms and half onto his lap. "It's okay."

"It stings, Papa," he whimpered again.

Somehow, and Severus didn't know how, there were words coming out of his mouth. Words that sounded conspicuously like: "Papa's here, Harry."

It was embarrassing, yes, but at the same time, probably just the right thing to shut Black up. Well, that man was now shouting behind his gag and that reminded Severus of the situation. That, and of course the little boy whimpering in his arms, holding on to him. He just hoped, as he waved his wand over his boy, that it was only a Stinging Hex and not something more serious. The gasp from him, the relieved gasp and the way he pushed his nose into the fold of Severus's shirt, told him that he was right. At least the idiotic man had not used anything worse.

"Papa," he still sort of whimpered and clutched tightly at his shirt.

"Better now?" he asked, having pulled the boy up somehow, his face was close to his child's head. He felt him nod and felt him snuggling up to him on his lap.

Only a stinging hex. A simple, ordinary stinging hex. But so strongly cast that his boy had almost been unconscious. Or had been for a very short amount of time. Black would pay for this. And he would never ever get near his son again.

It was strange, Severus wondered briefly as he still held the whimpering boy in his arms, but he had never quite realised until now how close he had grown to Harry. Well, yes, Minerva's little trick the day before when she had screamed as if the boy was about to die, that had tipped him off but seeing him lying there in pain – again – lifelessly, no. He could not deny any longer, not even to himself, that he felt a bond between himself and his child.

And Black was still sitting bound and gagged in a corner of his living room. The man had to leave, immediately. And yet, instead of taking steps to remove him or drag him out, he still sat on the ground, Severus was, holding and comforting his son.

His son. Well. Adopted son in any case. Who looked up at him, with, dare he think it, adoration in his eyes.

"Thank you, Papa," he whispered, "it doesn't sting anymore." He still wouldn't let go of him but instead, crawled up a bit on his body, sitting on his thighs now, his arms around his neck. "Who is that man?" he asked very carefully.

"That man," Severus began, trying to filter out all the words that actually rushed to his mind but weren't suitable for a child as old as Harry, he cleared his throat, "that man is Sirius Black."

"Sirius?" Harry wrinkled his little nose. "What kinda name is that?"

He was close to chuckling and if the situation had not been so serious (no, he couldn't let the pun go) and if he had been the type of person to actually chuckle, he probably would have done so. Instead, he settled for a sneer. "The kind of name that is used in the same family over and over again."

"And why was he doing that?" Harry asked in his ear, his hair tickling the older man.

"He, erm, he came to see you."

"See me?" Harry asked, outraged. "Why? And why did he use his wand?"

There were strangled noises coming from the corner where he had banished Black and the former Gryffindor looked mightily read in the face and looked as if he was about to choke on the gag. Well, Severus thought, that would probably not be too bad altogether.

Still, Harry deserved an answer. "He is your godfather," he said quickly.

Harry stared at him, frowning. "My godfather?" he asked and his scowl was almost, almost, almost as good as Severus's.

"Yes."

"And why is he coming now? Instead of...I mean I know that Aunt Marge is Dudley's godmother and whenever Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon wanted to go somewhere, they sent me to Mrs Figg and Dudley to Aunt Marge because, they said, it was her duty to look after Dudders. And because I was a freak, she couldn't possibly look after me. If he's my godfather, why didn't he..." Harry stopped. Oh, in that moment, Severus was at a loss for words. He could understand Harry so well. And in his child-like logic, it made incredibly much sense. And he would actually have to...

"He can stay wherever he likes," suddenly Harry added. "I have a Papa now, I don't need a godfather who doesn't like my Papa. I don't like him."

He knew, the right thing to do was to tell Harry that it hadn't quite been his godfather's fault. Black could not have taken him. But somehow, he couldn't bring himself to form the words. His declaration, his implication that he did not like anyone who did not like his Papa was – overwhelming. He knew he was a callous person, and he knew he was mean-spirited but this, this could be his revenge. The son of James Potter, turned a Snape, turned into someone who did not like Black. What a twist of fate. What speed James Potter must have gained, rotating in his grave.

And Severus found he didn't care. He only cared that the boy in his lap, clinging to him, was well. It was his task. Not because of a vow, not because of an oath. Because Harry was now his. That was the only reason by now.

"The only question remains, Harry," Severus whispered in Harry's ear, "where he got the wand and how he came to be here."

Harry hummed in agreement and turned on his lap, his back against Severus's chest, one of his hands grasping one of Severus's and holding it to him and tight. For safety measure and to secure that the boy could not possibly get any closer to Black, Severus wrapped his other arm around him as well, keeping him there.

As Harry ran a scrutinising eye over his godfather, Severus couldn't help but look at him as well. Well, yes, he did look like death warmed up, he was too thin and his skin was a sickly yellow but hadn't he deserved it? Even if he had not betrayed Lily? He had, after all, tried to kill Severus and he had almost succeeded. There had been other, minor injuries Severus had received by his hand and the humiliation had been – well. He could not bring himself to pity that man.

Attempted murder, then free of Azkaban he hexes his own godson so badly that the little on almost falls into a coma. No. No bit of pity, not a shred, not a tiny sliver, not a teensy slice. Nothing. Had been his own fault. His very own fault.

Instead of running off to kill Pettigrew, he could have just talked to Dumbledore. Could have told him, calmly, that he had not been Secret Keeper. And the old fool would have believed him with the help of Veritaserum and pensieved memories. But his impulsiveness had brought him to Azkaban. And his impulsiveness had made him hex Harry.

No mistake, Severus did not believe in hexing those that were weaker and disabled in any way, had had enough of that to last him a lifetime, but he would wait. And as soon as Black had his strength back, they would duel.

"Severus!" there was a shout from the fireplace and both his and Harry's head whipped around. He could hear the groans of Black getting louder too.

"Minerva!" Harry shouted back. "There is someone here and he made my entire body sting but Papa made it better and..." Severus, as gently as he could, covered Harry's mouth with his hand. He would have to teach the boy not to say so much. Not all at once.

"Man? Severus is he...Poppy's wand is gone and she said she only turned her back a minute and she had wards around the bed and he couldn't have...is he there?"

"Indeed," Severus drawled. "Will someone pick him up? I'm not accustomed to have filth in my quarters."

He could see her nod and a moment later, she appeared. "What's happened?"

"He made my body sting. It hurt, Minerva," Harry said, pouting, having wrestled the hand from his face.

"He did what?"

"Black thought it necessary to engage me in a duel. However, it seems the Dementors have not sucked his soul out but his aim. I was too slow with my shield and Harry caught a stinging hex."

Maybe, Severus thought, he should have protected the boy better. But he had been so quick and he had not expected the hex to be thrown so imprecisely. Minerva, however, obviously blamed not him but Black. With quick strides, she towered over the man who more or less cowered now in the corner. She looked over her shoulder at Severus.

"Cover his ears," she said sternly and because Severus knew that look and because sometimes, Minerva McGonagall could be quite a scary person, he did as he was told. Without really thinking about it. Harry didn't like it and struggled against his hands at either side of his head but another stern glance later, he stopped immediately.

"Explain to me," said she in her deadliest tone, "how you managed to steal Madam Pomfrey's wand and how you could leave without the wards going off."

He nudged his head, clearly trying to say that someone should take the gag out of his mouth, but then, a moment later, when Minerva had already stepped forward, there was, suddenly, a huge, enormous, black dog sitting where Black had sat.

"Well," Minerva said, probably quite speechless and Severus couldn't think of anything more intelligent to say. Interesting. Black was an Animagus. A dog Animagus. The dog though, only barked.

"Papa?" Severus heard Harry say.

"I will explain," he replied, his voice oddly calm. This was, apparently, his Animagus form. Minerva had mentioned something like that.

The dog barked again.

"And why, pray tell, did you hex your godson? And why, pray tell, did you steal a wand? And why, pray tell, did you do the exact same opposite of what the Headmaster asked you to do?" her voice became more agitated. She probably disliked speaking to the scruffy, flea-bitten dog. "Mr Black, you do know that I have ways of transforming you back, do you not?" he knew it was only a matter of seconds before Mienrva exploded. And that meant either exploded in the sense of senselessly hexing people, or, more likely, falling into her brogue and her voice taking on an even deadlier quality.

The dog – barked.

Severus still covered Harry's ears. There was no sense in letting him hear that.

"You stole a wand and you hexed your godson and now you don't want to change back?" she asked, her mouth a straight line in her face. "Change."

Another bark – and moment later – there sat Sirius Black again. Unbound and ungagged. "I wanted to see Harry," he said, almost deviantly.

"Did it not enter your minute brain that the boy might have needed a bit of preparation before you sprng this on him? Before you spring on him?" she was very, very angry.

"He's my godson!"

"Exactly. And that was why you should have a bit more consideration," she huffed. "Did you think we would have denied you access to him?"

It was almost comical, Severus thought. In any other situation, he would have seen the humour in this. Him, the evil, death eating git of the dungeons, still sitting on the floor with a child on his lap, a child whose ears he was covering, and Sirius Black, the well-known, arrogant, not-quite-mass-murderer sitting on the floor as well, listening wide eyed to Minerva McGonagall's broad, almost incomprehensible Scottish brogue. But for now, he merely wanted to have the man – and Minerva – out of his quarters. The boy would need a few explanations. And he, albeit unwillingly, would give them. Including Azkaban.

Well, Minerva was right. Harry had the right to meet Sirius Black. But he wouldn't have to. And he would influence the boy. He would make sure that he did not end up like one of those four Gryffindors. He would make sure that he had a well-behaved, polite boy there. Nothing more, nothing less.

"I hadn't thought about it," Black said meekly and Severus, despite everything, could see the colour drain even further from his face.

"You scared the poor boy to death. Trying to hex his Papa. Do you have any brains left?" she almost shouted now. "Back to the hospital wing with you. And where is Poppy's wand, Severus?" she asked, almost accusingly.

Severus felt almost reduced to a fourth or fifth year. He had not been talked to like this – not in this manner of speaking – for quite a while. Silently, he nodded to the floor where the mediwitch's wand lay and Minerva summoned it before she pulled up Black.

"I want to talk to Harry later, if that's agreeable with you," she told Severus, holding the arm of Black who seemed to wobble a bit.

In his daze and in his shock about everything that had happened, Severus only nodded and took his hands away from Harry's ears, who glared at him, madly.

"Papa!" he huffed. "What was that?"

Taking a deep breath and letting all the bad air rush out of his lungs with a sigh, he began. "Harry, your godfather didn't come for you because he was in prison."

_**xx**_


	45. Chapter 45

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

It was a few days during which Severus had to answer all kinds of questions from Harry. Sometimes, they were painful for him, sometimes annoying, but mostly, despite the annoyance and the pain, they were inquisitive and smartly asked. Why his godfather had gone to prison, why everyone had thought he was to blame, why nobody cared that he was in prison. And then of course, why his godfather didn't like him – Severus that is – and why he tried to hex him. Why he had hexed him.

Someone, up in the hospital wing was doing a good job, however. Black could not be seen, nor hurt during those few days. Minerva came to talk to Harry, in his absence, and as far as he could tell, she could explain things better than him. Not that he minded but he enjoyed the quiet, question-free two hours after they had talked to one another. Harry didn't tell and he didn't dare to ask – and oddly enough, he had, subconsciously, stopped using Legilimency on him. It had, a while ago, stopped seeming right. He didn't really notice anyway.

He didn't really noticed either that he read Harry stories for longer and longer every night and no, he didn't really notice that he tucked him in and every night, pressed a kiss on top of his head as well. It was just something he did now. Part of his new routine. Just something he didn't notice. And he didn't notice how he always ran a hand through Harry's hair just after bringing him to Mrs Longbottom's.

And that, was another thing the boy talked about in between his questions about Black and their past, he told Severus about what he learned and that Mrs Longbottom was mean to Neville especially since Luna, the little girl, had not attended school for two days.

That had been, well, tragic and he had to explain even more to Harry. Despite the fact that Harry had known since his earliest that he was an orphan, that his parents were dead, he had no true understanding of living and dying. And how could he? He was seven years old. And how did he expect Harry to understand that his fellow student's father, Xenophilius Lovegood, had experimented with a spell his wife had created – and had basically blown himself up when it had hit an Erumpent horn he had in his house? It was all on his shoulders and yet, Harry trusted him to tell the truth. And he had stuck to the truth. The Erumpent horn was dangerous at the best of times to keep in the house and that it had just been an accident.

Harry though, had been very sad for his friend and when Minerva had suggested writing a card, he had sat down immediately and had written one.

As for himself, none of his students doubted that he was still the greasy git of the dungeons. Even though, for the time being, he assigned detentions with Argus Filch instead of himself. Harry could not be left alone and he did not want him straying through the castle with Black on the loose.

In short, his life was relatively calm – as calm as it could be with a constantly asking seven year old boy, a Puffskein (which still wasn't hungry), a Poltergeist that knocked politely on doors (and who still bombarded students with all kinds of things – but always greeted him friendly) and an almost-mass-murderer not three flights of stairs away. Added to that a rather elusive Headmaster that drove his wife insane, and said wife who made it a point of coming down to the dungeons at least once a day for a chat with Harry (or, Merlin help, with him). Yes, in actual fact, he had talked more to people since Harry had come to live with him than in his entire life before.

But he didn't really notice that either.

xx

Septima Vector had expected more of a – bang – at the beginning of the school year. She had expected more of a weird reaction of her students to her, she had expected more of...she wasn't sure what. Everyone, including her students, treated her more or less politely, there was little to no hostility. Seriously, all her classes so far had gone rather well. She had been able to push through all of the things she wanted to cover and most of those in her class wanted to learn. She was surprised and happy, yes, happy, about it. She wasn't forced to attend meals, she did her rounds during the night, she slept, she got up, she taught. It was quiet, nobody bothered her.

It was good.

Apart from one thing. She missed Harry. She had not seen him at all. She missed him and she was close to going down to the dungeons and asking Snape if he could borrow him. Just for half an hour. And maybe she would have, if she hadn't had to go on rounds and if it hadn't been so late already.

She liked going on rounds. Peeves left her alone, even greeted her with a bow of his head and then zoomed away. She had no idea what had come over him but she wasn't complaining. Maybe the Poltergeist respected that Harry liked her though. Whatever it was, she didn't mind. Quite on the contrary.

xx

Sometimes, Minerva thought, her life could be exceedingly tired. Teaching Transfiguration to ignorant students all day long, and at the late afternoon, having to attend a funeral, then rushing back to Hogwarts and overseeing detention was a long day. But seeing Lila Lovegood and her daughter, both such bright, shining figures, with their long, blonde hair, dressed all in black, mourning over Xenophilius, was cruel. Luna was only six years old. And what did she know about Lila? Only that their marriage had been one of those weird things – more or less arranged by parents who sought out the best for their children (or in this case, sixteen-year old Lila and about fifty-year old Xenophilius), those got married, produced a child after approximately ten months of marriage and then truly seemed in love. Or were in love. The way Lila had looked at that moment, there was no doubt in Minerva's mind that she really had loved that man. Loved that man.

And the girl had been devastated. She had clung to her mother's hand (and that woman was only twenty-three...) and had cried and cried. Minerva didn't know much about children and she didn't know much about this family but this was a tragedy.

Oh she had needed that hug from her husband when she had returned back home and before she had to go and oversee her bloody Gryffindors who were so thoughtless that they actually convinced themselves they could try and outsmart Severus Snape. Not that Severus had noticed but then again, she had been able to prevent them from using Muggle colour-spray-things in red and gold in the dungeons just in front of the potions classroom. Sometimes, she despaired of them.

And sometimes, she just longed for a long, long holiday. Without paperwork, without Sirius Black still sitting in the hospital wing, getting more and more restless, gaining strength and being allowed, sometimes, outside. They couldn't have kept him there in any case.

Still, he kept clear of the dungeons and that did not surprise her. She knew he knew he had made a mistake and he felt utterly bad about hexing Harry. It was maybe the first time that he truly followed what someone told him – and for the first time, maybe understood that he had been wrong and that he had made a mistake. She merely hoped that Poppy and Albus talked to him the way both said they would. She'd have to look into it.

But in all honesty, she was tired. She was tired from being mean and stern all day long. She just wanted to crawl into bed and into her husband's arms and sleep. Sleep for weeks, maybe.

She fell into her bed, in her robes, still dressed, and just closed her eyes. For just a moment.

xx

Septima rounded a corner on the fourth floor, ignoring the crowing portrait of Udolph the Ugly and then stopped in her tracks. There was something, someone sitting in that nook there. She stepped a little closer, her wand lit and at the ready.

"You're Sirius Black," she found herself say when she stepped closer.

"Apparently, yes," the man replied. "I was let out of the Infirmary."

"Nice," she said and yes, she remembered him from school too. He had been quite the show-off. Always strutting around the castle but they had left her alone. Or she had stayed away from them. She couldn't remember quite so clearly. Well, no, in all actual fact, they always had other victims, other than her. Odd that. She remembered now, faintly, how they had harassed some other students, but never those overweight ones.

"And you are?" he asked, suddenly flashing her a smile.

"I'm, erm, Septima Vector," she replied, slightly blushing under his gaze.

"Ah, Madam Pomfrey told me you teach Arithmancy now. If we had such a good looking teacher, I might have considered taking it," he still smiled and Septima blushed more, then shook herself to her senses and turned to leave.

"Oi!" he cried. "Stay, please."

xx

"Papa?" Harry asked sitting across from him, doing the homework Mrs Longbottom had given him while his Papa was grading papers with that scowl on his face and that deep, deep line running between his eyebrows.

"Yes, Harry?" he asked without looking up.

"Can we, maybe...Neville didn't know what a football was."

"Well, he is a pureblood," Papa replied.

"Do you know what a football is?"

"Yes, I do know what a football is," Papa said and finally looked up from the parchment which looked like someone had bled quite heavily on it. To be honest, he had been shocked to hear that Neville didn't know what football was. There he had been, innocently, thinking that Luna still hadn't returned and it was just the two of them, that they could play a bit of footie and then he didn't know what it was. And didn't have one. However, he had really felt like kicking a ball around for a bit. And who, if not Neville, could he play with? Peeves floated and probably couldn't really play football, Minerva and Septima were girls and everyone knew girls played footie like, well, girls. So – there was Papa. But if he asked Papa right away, that wouldn't end well. So, he had to be a little sneaky.

"Do you know how to play?"

"Harry?" Papa asked and Harry knew he was getting too close for a moment. Retreat. Just a little.

"I'm just wondering because Neville didn't know and you're a wizard as well and I just thought that maybe wizards didn't know football," he said, as innocently as possible.

"Well, I do," he said and turned back to his grading. Now was the crucial point, Harry knew it. Now, he had to be patient. Very, very patient. He turned back to his book and copied a bit into his own folder. Mrs Longbottom made them have a folder into which they copied all the relevant things, definitions, and things about animals she thought important so they could look everything up again in their own folders.

And so, Harry waited until the right point. And he knew it was the exact right moment when Papa pressed so hard on his quill that it almost broke, scrawled a huge, huge, huge T on it and sighed. All at the same time.

"Football is a lot of fun," Harry said quietly. "And it's in the fresh air. And people do it for relaxation."

Papa looked at him and arched up his eyebrow. "Harry?" he asked in that tone of his that told Harry that he had not been sneaky enough. He frowned.

"Papa?" he pushed his lower lip forward a bit as he had seen Neville do (not that it worked on his grandmother but Neville had said that he tried)

"Harry?"

Oh, he had another idea. "When you grade, you have those liiiiiiiittle lines on your face, right theeeere," Harry sat up on his knees and leaned over the table, his fingers touching the deep lines on his Papa's face. "And you look like you're angry at me," he added, and by now he had almost crawled across the table and his nose was almost touching his Papa's.

"Harry, I have to grade those abysmally bad essays," Papa said in a soft voice and brush Harry's hair from his forehead.

"What is abysmally?"

"Really bad," Papa explained.

"But Mrs Longbottom said on Wednesday that you can concentrate better after a break," Harry said and he pushed his nose against his Papa's.

"Harry..." Papa groaned but he could feel Papa's big nose pushed a little against his little one.

"Can we maybe play a little football? For just ten minutes?"

"I don't have a football. And no."

"Please?" Harry asked and by now, was completely kneeling on the table, half on his folder, half on the space between the things Papa was grading and his own things. He flung his arms around his Papa's neck and kissed his nose. "Ten minutes. And you can turn something into a football. And you will be able to concentrate better afterwards and I can concentrate better afterwards."

Papa seemed to think for a moment and his eyes looked as if he looked at something that was very, very far away. He seemed to miss the moment when his eyes stopped looking like that and he suddenly found himself in his Papa's lap and behind him, there suddenly sat a football on the table.

"Really?" Harry asked, absolutely excitedly.

"Ten minutes," Papa said sternly, picked up Harry and Harry picked up the football and together, they really left the dungeons to go outside. He got to play footie with Papa! Couldn't really believe his luck.

xx

He could not believe what he was doing. He could not believe that anything short of an Imperius Curse was at work here. The boy had clearly found a way to Imperius him.

How else could it be that he was on Hogwarts ground, with a child by his side, a child that carried a muggle football? Imperius. Nothing else.

Even though he had to admit that Harry had gone about it rather Slytherinly. And that was something he could appreciate. Still, he was Imperiused, he was sure of it. How else could he have told Harry to step a little away and begin to kick the ball? And how the hell else could it have happened that he kicked the ball back?

How the hell else did it not matter that there were three students walking past and he still kicked the ball? In his robes. With Harry.

Imperius.

Even though, nobody would believe that he could be Imperiused by a seven year old child and so he would have to hand out a lot of detentions. That would make the rounds quickly across the castle. But, if he searched deep inside himself, if he looked past the Imperius Curse and past the fact that there were two more Hufflepuffs walking by (and his brain registered, hand in hand), he was having a rather, well, alright time. Not fun per se. But well, it sort of made his insides glow to see Harry happy. And happy he was. Kicking and whooping and bouncing when he could stop the ball Severus had just kicked.

He didn't stop the game either after ten minutes. In essence, time was no concept when you were under the Imperius Curse and he was. And so half an hour went by with them kicking the transfigured inkwell back and forth and Severus, after about five minutes, stopped noticing the passing, whispering students, didn't notice the Deputy Headmistress smirking at her window, only saw his son smiling and laughing and focused, as it was the custom when you were under the Imperius Curse, on playing football.

_**xx**_


	46. Chapter 46

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

_**And then?**_

Goblins had always been hard to deal with. However, with a little trick and the fact that Sirius Black had been the last living, free relative of Bellatrix Lestrange, the goblins accepted that he simply had to enter her vault. Nobody but Albus knew for sure how he had figured out that Bellatrix Lestrange had been in possession of a golden cup that had allegedly belonged to Helga Hufflepuff and which Lord Voldemort had turned into a Horcrux and he did not even tell his wife. He did not tell anyone either how he had found out that there was a diary at Malfoy Mansion.

However, it came as a surprise to everyone when Augusta Longbottom carried the head and body, separately, of a snake into Hogwarts. She had told everyone who wanted to hear it (and all those who did not want to hear it, too), that the snake had come straight into her classroom one morning and that she had, with the little help of magic and a little help from a sword she had borrowed from Albus Dumbledore to teach the three children, Harry Potter, Luna Lovegood and her own grandson, Neville Longbottom, about the founders, chopped its head off. The children weren't truly disturbed, she would tell everyone afterwards. Quite the contrary. They seemed to think it fascinating how there was a little puff of smoke and then the snake was just dead.

Augusta Longbottom was especially proud of her grandson – he had looked at the snake, even before it was dead, and had then, proudly, helped carry it out. He had showed bravery, in face of the living, and the dead snake. And of course, she was extraordinarily proud to rub it in towards Minerva McGonagall that she had killed such a huge, living creature.

The rest was, as they say, history. Somewhere in the forests of Albania, the spirit of Lord Voldemort tried to gain power, made the mistake of trying to push himself towards Scotland and on the way there, in the middle of the English countryside, tried to find refuge in a large house that was called Malfoy Mansion. His spirit was vanished by a frustrated Narcissa Malfoy who was sick of boggarts and other spirits roaming her house. As she wildly waved her wand around, she wasn't aware that Lord Voldemort stuck between boggarts, spirits and ghosts and was vanished with the rest of them. It is told that they never knew what happened.

And thus went died Tom Riddle forever. It wasn't very spectacular and unknown to most of the world and wizarding kind.

Which of course, would not have made it simpler for one Harry James Snape, who used to be Harry James Potter. Wizards and witches believed that he alone had vanquished the former He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. However, he had a smart adopted father, who kept him away from this, who told him, bit after bit, what he had done, what had happened and why people would react to him the way they would. And because Harry Snape was influenced heavily by his father, he sneered it off, or rather scowled it off and ignored it.

He was a happy boy, most of the time. There were hitches, of course.

The first one had happened when he had gone to see his Tima and had found her, hugging none other than his godfather. He had then run away, naturally, and it was only due to his love for Tima, that he slowly, very slowly, warmed to his godfather. He knew that he would never love him as much as he loved his Papa or Tima, or Minerva, but he liked him. To play with, sometimes. And he had to accept him because he was there most of the time when he went to see Tima. Even though he really didn't understand for a long, long time, what the appeal of snogging exactly was – and he refused (influenced by his Papa) to carry any flowers or rings or throw flower-petals or do anything extraordinary when his godfather decided to marry Septima (by that time, however, Harry was old enough that he had four front teeth and could say Septima perfectly). He was there, though, with his Papa. And he ate cake and good food and was even allowed to dance with Septima and Minerva. And then, later, he would even sometimes be with Septima when she nursed her new baby Aleph. Harry could never understand why people gave their children such strange names – and he had a good laugh with his Papa about it.

Minerva enjoyed her grandmother status with Harry. She saw him most every day, she taught him what she knew about Transfiguration even before he entered Hogwarts and she enjoyed being around him. Even when he tried to get her to play football. There were still times when she exploded and fell hard into her brogue – especially when Peeves and Harry played one of their tricks on her or on other staff members. Mostly harmless, yes, but nevertheless tricks and she was maybe the first person in Hogwarts-history, who handed out a detention towards an eight-year old. Who would have thought Harry had it in him to plan, together with Peeves, to bombard all students in the Great Hall with Stinking Bombs and to actually go through with it? And that on the first day of term.

As for Severus – his life changed and he felt himself changing, ever so slightly, with it. One day, he even talked to Lila Lovegood as he brought Harry to Mrs Lovegood (and that had happened before the snake-incident). And found himself talking to her the day after. And the day after. It took him, however, two years to ask her out and only after he left Hogwarts for good, he felt freer to go out with her. Severus did leave Hogwarts. He was free of any obligations towards Albus Dumbledore. His only obligation was his son. And he made damn sure he took good care of him. So Severus left Hogwarts, bought for himself, and his son, a little cottage in Kent and settled there, writing books about Defence against the Dark Arts and Defensive Potions. His books were a huge success, usually, because, well, people seem to like the kind of acerbic humour if it's written down and not directed at themselves.

Lila Lovegood moved in just shortly after Luna started Hogwarts a year after Harry – and Severus would always say that she had been lonely and that had been the reason they moved in together. However, for everyone who ever caught them in a private moment, they knew this wasn't true. They were the perfect example that opposite attract. Lila wouldn't let Severus fall into one of her moods and she never failed to make him smile (or laugh, on occasion) and Severus never failed to bring out the serious side in her. Nobody apart from those two knew how they had fallen in love – but they had. Even though Severus would always deny it.

But – often, he would think about how this all had come to pass, how he could not stand the thought of the boy, in whose hands his fate had lain, being raised by one evil Petunia Dursley and how he had been made, how he had made himself to let the boy in. And how he had changed his life. How Harry had made him love him. How Harry had taught him how to love again.

Harry didn't mind that his Papa was with a woman. He knew he always had his Papa when he needed him and he was busy being at Hogwarts anyway. He knew he could count on the ghosts, on his friend Peeves, on most of the teachers and on his friends.

Only sometimes, Harry would think how different it all could have been if that one day, his Papa, Professor Severus Snape, 'fesser Snape, 'fesser Papa, had come for him and how grateful he was, that he had his Papa.

_**xx**_

_**The End**_

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